


Stopping to Smell the Roses

by MortalAnonymous



Category: Carmen Sandiego (Cartoon 2019)
Genre: Bad Humor, Banter, Companionable Snark, Cute, Developing Relationship, During Canon, Episode Related, Flirting, Fluff and Humor, Gay, M/M, Masks of Venice, Murder, Post-Canon, Post-Finale, Rare Pairings, Romance, Slime Bomb, Tourism, Villains
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:00:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 36,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27145576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MortalAnonymous/pseuds/MortalAnonymous
Summary: Neal the Eel and Mime Bomb had an entire day to spend before their heist that night in Venice. Spending it together might have ended up more enjoyable than it had any right to be.
Relationships: Mime Bomb/Neal the Eel (Carmen Sandiego), Neal the Eel/Mime Bomb
Comments: 35
Kudos: 69





	1. Chapter 1

It was pure luck that Mime Bomb and Neal the Eel managed to meet up at the edge of the same Venice canal, as when their ex-ally Carmen Sandiego and her team had given chase, the pair hadn't actually gotten to interact at their initial meeting point, and had been sent in completely opposite directions. However, it seemed that they had similar instincts when it came to evasion tactics, and were surprisingly on the same wavelength when they skidded to a halt in front of one another in the public walkway. They'd taken one look at each other, glanced to the watery, gondola-filled road they stood by, and leapt.

The white-faced clown's shoulder checked hard into the body manning the boat the two thieving agents landed in, Mime deftly swiping the shirt and hat off the man he callously sent into the river. In a movement as smooth, he'd donned the items. Meanwhile, the oily-haired man joining him in the boat had crouched to grab a rope sitting on the floor and hastened to form it into a loop, tossing that to snag another gondola that had just passed in the crowded canal. All at once, the boats tethered and secured for a tow, the pair was almost undetectable to anyone scanning from the cement bank, blending in with the countless watercrafts as Mime pretended to power the gondola with an imaginary pole.

"Well, we sure gave _them_ the old slipperoo, didn't we, mate?" Neal breezed in a thick New Zealand accent, "You might say you and Neal the Eel make quite the team, don'chya think?" A coy beat. "Well ya _might_ say that...if you weren't the quiet type." He did have to say, that had been quite the well-executed escape for having not been coordinated at all.

Watching the other man lean casually on the boat's edge, Mime Bomb then rolled his eyes, unimpressed. Someone was jumping the gun, wasn't he? Quite the team? Neal's comment had quite literally been the first bit of dialogue the pair had exchanged in the field. They knew of each other, of course - operatives of the Villains International League of Evil were briefed on all other operatives for just such purposes as recognizing each other and knowing what to expect should they be selected to work together - but they hadn't worked together previously.

As well, Mime didn't think it was time to get so cozy just yet. Not only had Neal immediately seen fit to relax as soon as he was out of sight of their opposition, he was already making familiar quips about his partner. Behind Neal's back, Mime silently mocked the other's mouthiness to himself, sensing a flippant air that threatened to be obnoxious.

The next second, Neal subverted that attitude by sitting taller and thrusting a finger into the air, declaring, "We should move up the timetable, and steal those masks _tonight."_

Hm. Alright. So maybe Neal wasn't a moron. Maybe he was just confident. Mime could admit he liked to feel smug about a well-executed ruse. Still, it seemed like Neal was awfully fast to get comfortable.

Case in point, as the slippery-themed man in the black bodysuit moved to undo their boat's tether and the vessel gently drifted to bump against the canal's curb, he hopped spryly out and was back to breezy as he walked towards a cafe table not twenty feet away. Sitting readily and leaning back, he carried on his thought. "Still got the rest-a the day, though. What ya wanna do with it, eh, mate? We could do some sight-seein'. Hardly got to enjoy the Piazza before Team Red tromped in."

Stepping up behind the other man, peeling off the shirt he'd borrowed and tossing it into the water behind him, along with the hat that he now replaced with his usual black beret, Mime Bomb approached the cafe table and placed his wrists on his hips, mouth in a pursed pout. Then he turned sideways and walked several steps backwards across Neal's field of view, lastly halting and bending forward as he tapped his temple, eyes widening pointedly.

Neal's brow quirked slightly. "All work, eh? Well, you're prob'ly right we should have a back-up plan if old Black Sheep is darkening our flock, but can't we do both? Ever heard of stopping to smell the roses, mate?"

Mime paused, that very expression happening to be one he favored, and even used as an excuse to be in unusual places now and again. As well, he noted that Neal appeared to have absolutely no trouble interpreting him, and replied as though he'd been speaking words. This was highly irregular. Most often, folks spent a good while puzzling out his antics and then parroting his actions back to him in guess form before replying. While Mime Bomb enjoyed this constant game of charades and making others work for information when it was juicy, it was also almost refreshing to hear himself addressed so normally.

Gesturing to the seat across from him, Neal invited, "Come on then, have a load off. Tell me all about yourself."

Now Mime's face fell flat once more. Neal knew exactly what he'd done there.

Coming forward, Mime did opt to join the other at the table, but rather than take the seat offered, he bent his knees and sat on the air beside it, pointedly taking an imaginary second chair.

Neal's notably large front teeth were exposed as he gave an amused smile. "You're dedicated to your bit, Oi'll give ya that," he granted, "Never in all my years have Oi seen a gimmick quite like yours. Eh, but Oi like it. It's fun." He was only four years the clown's senior, but he still had a lot more experience packed into those years, and exposure to four whole graduating classes of V.I.L.E. Academy. They'd certainly never had a mime agent in the organization.

"Heard you're an elite, too," Neal continued smiling, "So it must be workin' for ya, then." A beat. "Oi'd sure say it's workin' for ya. Stripes is _definitely_ your color." Resting his chin on the knuckles of one hand, a cheeky wink was sent to the redheaded man across from him.

Mime Bomb's shoulders tensed visibly as his eyes widened in stun. Had that just been what he thought it had been? Forget familiar, was Neal seriously _flirting_ with a coworker he'd just met? Mime felt an uncharacteristic churn of fluster in his gut. People didn't flirt with him. He was the weird, gangly, quiet guy in the background, and he liked that role. It was exactly what enabled him to blend in and gather intel. As well, this was supposed to be _work._ How unprofessional was this Neal character to even go there when they had a heist to complete, and under the pressure of a tight clock? Stopping to smell the roses was one thing, but this was entirely another. _His_ first thought when meeting his fellow agent certainly hadn't been how attractive he thought the other man was. Of course now the notion of consideration inevitably edged his train of thought.

Then again, it could just as easily be Neal's character. Another quip. Yes, that was the most likely option, come to think. He was clearly a jokester, even after only knowing him in person for a mere handful of minutes. Finding ease in that realization, Mime Bomb simply returned Neal's wink with an annoyed expression, dismissing the line entirely.

Neal let his hand fall to the table as his posture became more neutral, but his smile didn't leave. He found Mime Bomb's reaction to be quite endearing. Truthfully, the slimy Kiwi was indeed a notorious jokester, and he loved to push buttons, but there was a grain of genuine interest to his words. Not one to judge for quirks, he thought Mime Bomb was unique, and he wasn't half bad a looker. He also seemed fun to work with. Not someone he'd say no to a date with, and Neal was not a shy fellow in the slightest. Definitely quick to act. However, it seemed like Mime Bomb either didn't realize the genuine part of the compliment, or he was not actually open to the idea. Oh well. If the case was the latter, Neal could still get a kick out of teasing.

He watched as Mime Bomb rearranged the table dressing, using the napkin holder to represent the museum they were targeting and the salt and pepper shakers for themselves, beginning to formulate alternative plans of attack for whatever form of interference Carmen Sandiego might have in store.

...

As it turned out, the two thieves were well-synchronized when it came to actual planning as much as they were on-the-fly escapes. They were both masters of stealth and infiltration, and so shared knowledge of what obstacles to be aware of. They also shared opinions on priorities and rules. Have everything ready before beginning, and follow the plan. Bypass the security system, eliminate the guard, know your exit. With any luck, moving the heist to that night would allow them to beat Carmen Sandiego to beating them to it. She'd only preserve those priceless masks as public displays anyway, and where was the personal gain in that?

Being on the same page so well meant that making a plan didn't actually take that long, and it was hardly a surprise that immediately after having one, Neal was content in turning the conversation back to casual in a jiffy. As the pair made use of the cafe they'd settled at, enjoying Caprese salad, stromboli, and panini, Neal simply began talking about himself since Mime hadn't seemed to want to open up.

He reminisced fondly about V.I.L.E. Island, the criminal facility in which they'd both trained, noting Saira Bellum as his favorite of the teachers slash leaders of V.I.L.E. itself. She'd been the one providing him his handy suit that emanated the slime he used to aid him in his contortionism and squirming into places he shouldn't be. Slime based off of his own natural skin oils and sweat, a negative trait enhanced and multiplied into something useful. Though the soles of the suit's hands and feet were also incredibly gripping.

Mime Bomb still thought that sounded kind of gross...but it _was_ certainly an example of owning oneself, no matter how weird, and working with what one had. It was exactly what he'd done, really coming into his own once he'd found the idea of becoming a permanent mime. He also liked their mad scientist of a teacher well enough, enjoying her deadly gadgets most of all, but she wasn't his favorite, and he felt oddly compelled to share his own experience. Standing, he'd put on a very stoic face and mimed putting a hand into a robe pocket, as well as holding the hilt of an imaginary sword. Then he slouched into an exaggerated sneaking pose and stepped in place a few times. Lastly, he stood back up, traced the brim of an invisible wide hat on his head and flipped an invisible long head of hair before crossing his arms in a huff and turning his face sourly to the side.

"Shadow-san was your fave, eh?" Neal sympathized, and Mime Bomb tapped his nose to indicate the guess was correct. "Yeah, Oi'll bet you were crackerjack at Stealth 101. Sure _bet_ you're bitter about him defecting to the Red side as well." If _his_ favorite teacher had ended up in cahoots with Carmen Sandiego, ex-codename Black Sheep and V.I.L.E.'s own homegrown mascot, he'd be pretty upset too. Neal may have been with the baddies, but one of his defining traits was fierce loyalty.

Brow furrowed, Mime Bomb nodded once in whole-hearted agreement, following it up with one fist striking laterally into an open palm. Traitors deserved to be punished. Those not following orders or simply doing wrong by V.I.L.E. ordinance deserved to be punished. His reputation as a spy and a snitch wasn't earned for nothing. He too was loyal to the organization and everything they stood for.

"Well, if Oi end up tussling with him again, Oi'll be sure to give him a few slips for your sake, eh?" Neal offered with a friendly face, "Handled him before well enough. Though it seems you did your fair share in that chase just now."

With this, Mime's stern expression had cleared and he actually offered Neal a pleasant smile. He appreciated the sympathy, and since they _had_ made such great headway in their work, a spot of conversation wasn't all that horrible. Neal certainly had no trouble filling the silence. Maybe he was just friendly, and maybe he wouldn't be the worst partner in the world.

This time Mime Bomb sat in the real chair, joining the other at the table properly, though Neal's words also caught up to him as he did and his brow went up in realization. Staring at the other, he tilted his head in questioning.

Neal blinked. "What? Have Oi got a spot?" Touching his cheek, he thought he must, only puzzling further when Mime Bomb formed twin fists and knocked them together lightly.

Finally it clicked. "Oh! Fought Shadow-san?" A light laugh. "Sure did! Actually, Oi'm sure you'll love this. Lemme take ya back a few months to Russia..."

...

After brunch, Neal regaling Mime Bomb with the story of how he'd almost ended up on V.I.L.E.'s faculty within the last year to _replace_ Shadow-san - something Mime Bomb was honestly impressed by; Neal was that good? - the two headed off to scope out their planned route of entry for the theft that night. Since it was going to be such a rush job, this time more than ever they had to be extra sure there were no surprise blockades, closed roadways or hitches of any sort.

Getting into the tunnels underneath Venice was shockingly easy. There were open arches available to anyone to just waltz into in lower parts of the city, seemingly almost entirely unpatrolled. Finding one that would connect to the depths below the museum was child's play. As they entered, rucksack in hand, Neal glanced about the place as Mime Bomb pinched his nose and then sagged while sticking his tongue out to exhibit disgust.

"Count yourself lucky we didn't try this during Acqua Alta, mate," he chided, "That'll happen off and on, sewers flooding over and up onto the streets. Sometimes five feet deep! 'd be _way_ harder to break in down here with that goin' on. Well, maybe not for an eel like myself, but for you?" A light chuckle.

Mime's lips shifted and he rolled his eyes. He'd rather not think about getting drowned in sewer water, thank you. He'd also like to see Neal try and remove a manhole cover while underwater. He got the joke, but in all actuality, the random floods Venice, Italy experienced would have thrown a mighty wrench into their works.

"So which snakehole am Oi gonna be slithering out of, then?" a nonplussed question chirped.

Checking the plans of the building he'd been provided by V.I.L.E. on his phone, Mime Bomb scanned the tunnel around him and came to a halt in his steps. They ought to be directly underneath the display room the prized masks were located in, so he pointed down at the manhole he stood over. This was the one.

Neal was going to be the one executing the actual theft, but he couldn't be seen entering the masonry tunnels from the street, so he was going to be taking the route even lower to get in - the actual sewer maintenance line.

Pretending to spit on each of his palms and push up his sleeves, Mime Bomb limbered his fingers and bent at the waist to tug in predictable futility at the heavy metal covering bolted to the cement. He was simply adding a bit of personal flair to the point he was making.

Tossing down the rucksack as he approached, Neal couldn't help his eyes sliding for the rump Mime Bomb had just openly flaunted in his direction. Almost one hundred percent unintentional, Neal was sure, but a minute cheeky smile graced his lips. Flipping his wrist in a casual point towards that presented rear, the taller man quipped, "Hoo! Gotta say though, mate, _your_ opening's one Oi sure wouldn't mind worming my way into~."

If Mime hadn't been certain if he was being flirted with before, that really ought to have cleared any mystery up.

In an instant, Mime Bomb had stood erect, arms coiled in stun and offense, his face expressing both emotions quite well as his cheeks darkened underneath pancake makeup. His wide eyes snapped towards Neal as he turned, hardly having expected a second come-on out of the other man's mouth, much less one so...direct!

Neal couldn't help a laugh. What a face! "What's the matter, mate? Not a bottom? Well, no worries. Oi'm _flexible."_ With a smarmy grin, he swayed and wobbled his arms in waves to accentuate his point.

Mime Bomb's face turned slightly, calculating, though his gaze remained trained on the flippantly suggestive man. Was he...any level of serious? Or was he just looking for a reaction? It was hard to tell, given his playfully glib attitude. And was he going to keep doing this? Mime was not going to appreciate inappropriate, uncharming comments catching him off-guard all day. Just when he thought he'd been liking the other, as well.

"If you're wondering if those comments mean anything," Neal figured, "Only ever do if Oi get a nibble. Don't worry yer head, Oi know how to stay focused. Just fancy a bit-a teasing on the side, is all." Not everyone appreciated his colorful personality, but that didn't mean they didn't have to keep putting up with him pushing their buttons when he found out what worked on them.

Mime supposed he had to have been rather easy to read there. And, more composed, supposed he could just not nibble, then. If he didn't have to worry about Neal pushing too far, he could ignore...

"Fair's fair, though," Neal carried on as though discussing the weather, "What you think? Stare all ya want, mate. Oi did catch ya out." Turning his back to the other, he shifted and placed a hand on his hip, posing like a model and showing off his own hindquarters. Glancing over his shoulder he smirked, "Oi think Oi paint a pretty picture in this getup anyhow. Highlights the assets, you know?"

Unavoidably, Mime Bomb's eyes slid to where they were invited. Where he was being invited to consider the same thing Neal had been imagining a mere moment ago. And again, Mime Bomb found himself intimidated by such a forward and blatant suggestion. As well, he was unable to deny that skin-tight suit clung well to the taller man.

With this display, it was likely safe to assume that Neal was very probably actually attracted to Mime Bomb, but then what did Mime Bomb think about that?

Forcing his eyes away from the slippery Kiwi, the clown-faced party considered that maybe he was so affronted because this was unfamiliar territory. He was most often focused on the job, and did not put much thought into things like flirting unless he was as sarcastic as many of his gestures leaned, although he wasn't without his moments of giving a charming gesture simply to be a gentleman. Alas, these were almost always ignored entirely, as they were naturally in pantomime, and most folks had little patience for his games. Even Black Sheep, when she'd been in his class, and who had been the most willing to play along every now and again, had had no time for his offerings of pretend flowers.

Hm. Thoughtfully, his face shifted. His eyes slid slyly back towards those jokingly-flaunted hindquarters. He supposed if he thought about it, he wasn't against flirting itself. It could even be entertaining if there was another participant. However, if that other participant also meant his flirting, he would want romantic interest from someone worth his time. Who would get it.

Still in calculating consideration, Mime Bomb swirled his wrist in a motion to pluck one of his pantomime flowers from the air. This seemed like a fair test of character.

Neal faced the younger man as he approached, not knowing what to expect from the silent one at all. His expression was shrewd, almost distrustful. But then he moved the hand shaped like holding a slender object, let his face soften into a content beam as he closed his eyes and brought the hand close, inhaling deeply like there was a sweet aroma, and then offering it out towards the other agent.

Neal didn't miss a beat. His own face brightened. "Oh..! Invisible! My favorite color~!" Gladly, he reached to accept the gift, taking the imaginary flower to his own nose for a whiff before sticking it in a pretend lapel. "Hey; this mean you're warmin' up to me after all?" In any sense, he did like getting along with his fellow evil-doers.

Mime Bomb blinked. Oh. Wow. Someone at V.I.L.E. actually knew how to be fun. _His_ kind of fun. He was stunned all over again, but this time pleasantly so. There hadn't even been a moment of hesitation. Neal was very much able and willing to communicate on his level. Mostly. It hadn't been a perfect conversation over brunch, but the slimy man was still more capable than anyone else Mime Bomb had conversed with.

A lop-sided, coy smile quickly replaced Mime Bomb's blank stare. Ok. This could be a fun game.

Standing tall and gaining a flippant air of his own, he lifted one hand and waggled it in a 'so-so' motion. Then he simply pointed at the discarded rucksack, then the manhole cover, and turned his back on Neal again, tapping away at his phone looking for more mission-relevant information that could help them once they were done here.

"Oo. Cold, mate," Neal accused, but not very bitterly, "But Oi guess where's the fun in playin' _easy_ -to-get, eh?" Obediently, he bent to grab the rucksack and knelt by the manhole cover, pulling out a wrench as he did. "Well, stand back. This looks like a job for some all-natural Neal Brand Lubricant!"

Wrapping one hand around the opposite upper arm, he squeezed and dragged that hand down, causing a gathering of viscous, translucent, blue-green substance to pool and grow at the side of his gloved hand. By the time it had reached his wrist, the gunk had dripped off and drizzled onto the metal covering he aimed to get into.

Dabbing his fingertips into it and using them to apply the substance to the rusty bolts, Neal couldn't resist one more quip. "Multi-purpose, don't ya know~."

Mime Bomb had watched the other gathering this slime in a sort of morbid transfixation. Still not the most appealing of abilities, and yet still so useful. He was torn between appreciating it and being put-off. But he had to wrinkle his nose when the next quip came. No. Just no on that one.

That was just as well. Neal hadn't been his most serious. He just couldn't avoid such an easy crack to make. Merrily, he carried on his task while Mime Bomb scouted out a good boat rental place for their next stop.

...

Casually, while Neal made friendly chatter with the owner of the boat rental establishment, Mime Bomb took a tourist pamphlet from a rack on the small shack's side. Inside was a map of every canal in a good five mile radius. This he scanned to learn how the canals were connected, planning for every potential during the getaway he and his partner would be making by water.

A few minutes later, Neal had an arm raised to get the bereted man's attention as he hailed from the docks, "Mime Bomb! Come on, bruv! Oi got us a good deal on a real beaut!"

It was easy to note an extra notch in familiarity as the New Zealander called out. He really did get cozy quickly, didn't he? Well, this time, Mime didn't complain. Instead, he simply came to the call and inspected the boat himself. Indeed, it was a fine speedboat. He nodded in approval at the color. Poison green. V.I.L.E.'s color.

Hopping in behind the wheel and giving it a few eager turns, the taller man announced, "Captain Ten- _Neal,_ ready and reporting for a full day of sight-seeing fun!" A jaunty nautical salute followed.

This seemed to amuse the old man who owned the boat rental, and though Mime Bomb had nothing against the joke, his face exhibited some concern as he joined the other in the boat, stepped behind his seat and spread the map in front of Neal to remind him of their goal.

"Oi know, Oi know," Neal waved off, "We can still do both, remember? Stop to smell the roses? We can make a day of it. Lotsa canals to see! In fact, if you're so inclined, we could even make a _date_ of it~."

Once more, Mime Bomb was thrown off by the suddenness of such words, but not nearly as much as before. His shoulders only hunched slightly in response. Actually, knowing he couldn't say what he wanted to in front of a civilian, his biggest concern was the man on the dock.

Sparing just a glance to that man, Mime Bomb let a sunny beam come to his face as he bent at the waist, putting his hands on Neal's shoulders, and pressed his cheek into the other man's as he nodded. Then he stuck his arm out straight to order Neal to get them moving.

It was Neal's turn to be thrown off a bit, hardly having expected contact like this, but he wasn't complaining. "Right on!" he perked, and got the boat moving, accelerating eagerly.

It was worth the stumble Mime took as he was forced back with the motion. Catching himself and coming back forward to take the passenger's side seat, his face was hardened as he faced Neal and placed a flat hand over his brow like a visor, then pretending to look around. Next he mimicked popping a collar and tipping a wide hat. Then he simply opened his palms towards Neal and shifted his lips in a pointed silent question.

Neal's brow quirked, puzzling that one out for a second. "Ohhh..!" The flip-flop in Mime's tone had mixed him up. "No worries. Oi told ya. Oi know how ta stay focused. Ol' Red's not gonna catch a thing. Besides. Knowin' her, she's gonna be too busy with her _own_ plan casing that museum. 's why we're movin' faster than planned, remember?"

Knuckle to chin, Mime Bomb recalled both of those points. They were fair, as well. Well, so long as they were still conscious of the potential threat to the mission and continued to keep an eye out, then yeah, alright. Nothing wrong with appreciating some landmarks during their scouting.

Bringing another point up, Neal pouted, "This mean you didn't wanna count this mission as a date, after all?" Seemed like Mime just wanted to be able to discuss their thievery freely.

With another thoughtful pause, Mime Bomb figured he'd given enough positive affirmation already, getting Neal's hopes up. So, pretending he hadn't heard the other, he slipped on a pair of imaginary headphones, touched an invisible Walkman on his hip and began bobbing his head, one finger tapping on his knee as he smiled and turned his head for the passing scenery.

Seeing Mime delight in taking his turn to give his partner a hard time, Neal took his turn to scoff. So that was how it was going to play out, was it? Well, wasn't that...actually quite appealing?

After a mere couple seconds of his pout, Neal's expression relaxed. Mime Bomb's taunting, almost contradictory attitude about not confirming any interest was snugly in the same vein as his own approach. Mime Bomb was actually quite the rascal, wasn't he? So he responded to Neal's quips in kind, and their matching impish streaks meant that if Neal wasn't being outright rebuked, then flirting was going to end up being more of a game both ways. Not to mention, in that case, not outright denying Neal was a very sly, roundabout way of saying the slippery man had a shot.

Didn't that sound even more appealing, then? Someone who could not only take a bit of obnoxious ribbing, but give it back? Quite a stimulating prospect indeed.

...

The first time Neal stopped the boat, it was because the pair had been passing a glass blowing demonstration inside a special display area of a privately-owned shop. Not something either expected to see, but Mime Bomb had put both palms to his cheeks in excitement and pointed repeatedly at the event. Neal had been gawking a bit as well as they approached, so had no trouble agreeing to pulling the boat over.

Once parked, while getting up he leaned towards Mime Bomb and reached for the air around the clown's ear, pulling one half of those imaginary headphones off and teasing, "Think you forgot you were wearin' these, mate. Wanna try askin' so Oi can respond properly next time?"

Mime Bomb's brow went up, not expecting Neal to have retained the supposed headphones. People _certainly_ never made callbacks to his bits. This was a level of investment above and beyond. Still, his face painted annoyance the next second, as it was still being used to mock him.

Collectedly, Mime Bomb smoothly removed his invisible headphones and Walkman, gently setting them on the boat's dashboard before following to climb up onto the curb. He would not give Neal the satisfaction of knowing he'd bothered _or_ impressed him.

Neal had already slid his way through the small crowd, giving the tourists short quips about doing just that and pardoning his residue, and was now watching the woman at a great fiery kiln blow into a lengthy metal pipe with molten glass at one end, rolling it in turn to keep its shape.

Using the widened path formed by tourists who'd been slimed, those onlookers dispersing to inspect and wipe themselves in incredulous disgust, Mime Bomb joined the other V.I.L.E. operative and instantly perked as he observed the roaring flame, eyes trailing down to the still-glowing glass that raw heat had melted. A slight spark entered his eye as he admired the power of it. Entertained the light novelty of what would happen if that glass blower ended up inside that kiln of hers. It took him back to a few instances of covering his tracks in the past. Also the craft presentation was pretty neat.

Thinking similarly of the novelty, Neal spoke up. "Hoo! That's not somethin' you'd expect to see in a water-logged place like this, eh?" He nudged the nearest stranger with his elbow. "Can't imagine baking in this heat all day, though. A toasty temp gets me slick like ya wouldn't believe!" Then his eyes turned towards the woman giving the demonstration and chirped, "Whatchya blowin', then? How'd this end up such a lucrative business for ya? Don't you ever worry about leaks? Might have one already. You've let an eel trickle in~."

A self-appreciative laugh, though no one around him got the joke and most reactions were a mix of confusion and groans. The woman at the kiln looked fatigued, like she'd heard similar rambling inquiries from endless strange-looking visitors who thought they were funny. Rehearsed, she simply began a deadpan run-through of the history of the establishment and the art of glass blowing on the Murano island cluster.

Mime Bomb got the joke, but he felt the crowd covered any appropriate reactions. He was only half-listening as things went on, anyhow, noticing an exposed wallet peeking from the back pocket of a plump man in front of him. With a coy glance around himself, then rather sure Neal had successfully disrupted any wandering eyes for the moment, he swiped. Nothing wrong with tips in a mission. Anything extra you earned was all yours, and pickpocketing was a fun hobby.

Turning and flipping nonchalantly through the pilfered item as though it had always been his, Mime Bomb sensed one set of eyes on him and glanced up. As it turned out, Neal had followed with a few backwards steps of his own just so he could give him a smarmy smirk.

Crossing his arms, the Kiwi man noted quietly, "Getting in the heisting spirit, bruv? Smooth moves. Your fingers may be as slippery as mine~." As a fellow specialist in thievery, of course he'd been able to pick up on the action right next to him. He also found it to have been admirably bold and flawlessly executed. A comment could not be refrained.

At the compliment, Mime Bomb rolled his eyes modestly this time, smiling and flipping his wrist. It was nothing.

Neal's beam widened impishly. "Think Oi can do ya one better, though. Watch this."

Mime's head tilted slightly as Neal took both hands and dragged them up his belly in repetition, gathering a small wad of goo.

Scanning the backs of the crowd they'd fallen behind, Neal didn't have difficulty spotting another man's back pocket leaving his wallet open for pilfering. Too many men did this, really. With a final keen glance towards his compatriot, Neal stole swiftly behind the man and palmed the wallet, letting one finger stay hooked into the pocket as he daintily overturned the other hand, letting that glob of collected goo fall into the gap. Lastly, Neal retreated in a hurry, ushering Mime Bomb out of that showroom with him as he called out, "Egad! _What's_ going on with your pocket, mate? Did you forget to buy a jar with your jam? Is that why you're here?"

Stopping around the corner, he and his cohort both peeked to observe as the man puzzled and reached to feel his pocket, only to get a hand coated with a slippery, unidentifiable substance. The outcry of dismay and the dance he did while trying to remove the slime, even swatting at his own bottom in vain to remove the sodden patch, was highly entertaining.

Looking back to Mime Bomb, Neal prompted, "Eh..? What'd ya think, then? Fun, wasn't it?"

Mime Bomb...had to agree. That had been insult to injury, and disgustingly clever. His hands were both pressed over his mouth as his cheeks puffed, indicating much stifled laughter. So long as it wasn't inconveniencing _him,_ misfortune was very funny. And Neal's experience clearly showed. Maybe that was why he was so breezy. He'd been doing this long enough that he felt safe pulling off his crimes with frivolous frills. Mime could appreciate that. Respect it, even.

Delighted to see his prank met with such positive reception, Neal moved his hands to Mime Bomb's shoulders to steer him away from the scene of the crime. "Knew you'd like it! Oi could just _tell_ we were gonna make a crackerjack team, you and Oi. Same page all the way."

Well, maybe not _all_ the way. Quirking a brow at the way he was pushed, Mime Bomb opened his palms groundward and looked back at the taller man in a silent distasteful question, protesting this method of transport.

Observing the expression with some perplex, Neal questioned back, "Mm? Problem, mate?" He slowed, removing his hands from the other just on instinct.

To illustrate, Mime Bomb puffed one cheek in pout before tapping the back of his beret with the heel of his hand, knocking it forward to look like an old-timey tough guy, marching around to Neal's back and pushing in turn as if asking how he liked it. However, Neal did not actually budge while being shoved. Mime's build was incredibly limber and lanky, but not at all muscular, meanwhile Neal's was tall, slender _and_ with a healthy dash of well-toned muscle.

Neal wasn't dense, though, and took the point. "Oi take it you found me a little too hands-on in our getaway?" he ventured, "Alright, fair enough. How about you go ahead and pick our next hot spot, then? Ohp. Hang on. Lemme give you a foot." Below, he took himself off of the well-tractioned soles of his feet, which were not likely helping Mime Bomb's attempts at moving him, and turned his stance onto the blades of them, instantly sliding forward as the oozing portion of the fabric touched the ground. His arms went out sideways in a whimsical illustration of enjoyment.

Mime Bomb lurched forward at the unexpected motion, stumbling a bit before straightening and correcting his hat as the other hand went to his chest while steadying his breath.

Only sliding a mere couple of feet, Neal tossed a glance over his shoulder and chided with a breezy shrug, "Aw, was that all we're doing? Well, lucky you Oi fancy the _wimpy_ silent type."

This caught Mime Bomb off-guard again, though rather than send him stumbling, it set off a short flutter in his chest. Even in the middle of being difficult, Neal could not miss the opportunity for a minute flirt. Actually, somehow that seemed like the best place to slip a stealthy come-on. It was how Neal had incorporated all of them thus far, and not one had failed to make Mime Bomb take note.

Well, fair played.

Carrying on as he had before as well, Neal simply yarned, "Well, while you're deciding, Oi suppose the _real_ pickpocket winner's whoever got the best loot, am Oi right? Let's see what we got here."

Opening the wallet he'd nabbed, he pawed eagerly through the contents, pleased to see a good number of credit cards, as well as a sizable wad of mixed Italian and American notes. "Oo~, jackpot~!"

Mime Bomb accepted this challenge, brushing off the last few moments and coming to stand by Neal's side with a graceful pivot. He resumed rifling through the bills and assorted junk in the wallet he'd stolen - Why was there a paperclip chain in there? - for a few seconds, then passed the one Neal held a coy, purse-lipped glance as if gauging the Kiwi's investment. Then, deciding to act, he smiled and performed a lunging side-step, miming a large stage hook in his hands that he pretended to hook around the man next to him.

Neal barely had time to give his gaze a curious flick towards Mime's movement before he found a sharp tug at his ankle and himself collapsing painfully on his back. From there he could only groan in stun and watch the wallet that had arced gracefully out of his grip land in Mime Bomb's gloved hand.

Mime Bomb retracted the foot he'd hooked around Neal's ankle during his distracting hook act, tossed that imaginary stage prop away and brought his heels together for a showy bow over the man now sprawled on the pavement, having been tripped up by a smudge of his own slime.

Putting together what had happened, Neal's expression formed a flash of distaste when Mime Bomb stuck his tongue out at him, but then he had to relent with a lop-sided grin. "Cheeky," he granted, pushing himself up on his hands. The redhead over him did not retract as their faces came close. He just crossed his wrists behind his back to prevent Neal from snagging back either wallet. "You are an _underhanded_ imp, aren't ya? Well alright, you've proved your mettle. You're pickpocket supreme. So long as you don't go all cutthroat on me." Seeing Mime's head tilt in slight puzzle, Neal noted, "Don't think Oi didn't catch how you were eyeballing that fire, Mr. Highest Death Toll of His Graduating Class. Oi believe it after that and your little display just now. Impressive. Only Oi won't appreciate it if you end up turning that little spot of bloodlust on me, see? Promise me you were just roughhousin'?"

Ah. Neal was worried Mime Bomb might have actually been sore at him and been lashing out, viewing the pickpocketing spoils as a serious way to assert dominance. Well, it was true Mime Bomb was easily fed up and quite callous towards others, but he most often preferred _passive_ -aggressiveness, especially towards fellow agents. He did get quite a rush when getting the chance to take out a target, but he also wasn't _that_ rash about striking out. He knew when he was out-gunned as well. Plus, even if he liked looking out for himself as number one, he was loyal to V.I.L.E. He doubted he could see himself killing a fellow operative unless he _really_ needed to.

To put Neal's concern at ease, Mime Bomb let a wide, friendly beam reach his closed eyes as he shifted his hands to hold both wallets in one, bringing the other forward to help the slippery man up. His rising enjoyment and willingness to participate in games was genuine.

A more relaxed smile spread on Neal's lips as he accepted the offer and stood. "Good ta know," he perked. Happy to hear the younger man was getting comfortable with him rather than changing his mind, he kept that hand in his as he used it to pull Mime closer, taking a step forward and enjoying the way Mime's eyes widened as he was dipped slightly. "That mean you were thinkin' more along _these_ lines?"

Feeling another, stronger flutter behind his ribs at this physical turn of the tables, Mime Bomb couldn't help but have a fleeting thought that this corny, charmless goofball was actually quite charming _because_ he was that way. However, his own stubbornness and desire to continue butting heads with this man made him simply scrunch up his face and deliver a much more strongly-worded poke of his tongue.

With an amiable laugh, Neal breezed, "Ah, just as well. Was mostly lookin' for this, anyway." Stepping back and letting Mime upright, Neal held up the hand that had been around Mime's back. Now aloft was the wallet the younger man had had initially. "Tradesies~!" the perky man quipped, waggling the wallet playfully, "Don't worry, Oi left ya the other one. Only fair to split tips when you're on a team-up."

Blinking and flexing his empty hand in front of him, Mime glanced at the wallet he still held and then up at Neal's back as the man hailed him to follow and tell them where they were going next already because they were burning daylight. Another smile found the man in makeup. Where he'd been brattishly selfish, Neal was being kindly fair. Neal was...a good guy, wasn't he? Well, for a bad guy. He had fun with his villainy because he loved what he did, but being evil didn't mean you had to be a jerk. And Neal wasn't a jerk.

Entertaining a more complete thought that Neal's snark was charming, in fact pairing quite interestingly with his own, Mime Bomb followed to decide the next stop on the pair's personal tour of Venice.

...

The two villains took in many of the staple watery sights as they cruised their boat around, tracing which canals were closed off for any reason and which ones they should _not_ take in case of pursuit, lest they corner themselves. They saw many impressive church towers, wide waterways with beautiful buildings and bridges, and endless archways. They even made one special stop, at The Bridge of Sighs that connected Doge's Palace to the Prigioni Nuove, a 17th-century prison, and which was the last pathway many a criminal in Italy's history would take before they never saw the sun again, to share a moment mourning their past brethren.

Neither was able to make light of this, Mime Bomb doffing his hat and Neal placing a hand over his heart as they simply shared a sincere moment of silence for the poor souls that had been caught in their misdeeds, and taken one last look out towards where the V.I.L.E. operatives stood, and sighed as they reflected on their fates.

However, this somber moment was the only one of its kind. And though it had fostered a stronger sense of respect between the two operatives, the rest of their sight-seeing only helped their shared appreciation for witty banter grow.

One might have thought witty banter with a mime was impossible, but Neal kept finding a way. The forwardness of his quips only escalated as well.

During a walk down a row of one of Venice's many shop-lined canals, they'd just so happened to be passing a makeup shop, which inspired Neal to ask Mime whether or not he should give it a try, perhaps lipstick, and then ask flirtatiously if he could try on some of Mime's.

This time Mime was prepared when the other man leaned in slightly, and in fact welcomed the shortened distance with a coy quirk of his brow, turn of his head, and a smirk. Then, he'd nodded graciously, closing his eyes and leaning forward a couple inches himself as he puckered up.

Neal had blinked in surprise, expecting a lot more resistance for only his second suggestion of a kiss, but decided he shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth and shut his own eyes to steal the offer while it lasted.

However, unseen to him, Mime Bomb had reached into his pants pocket, and instead of getting a kiss, Neal found his lips hitting something small, tubular and solid, which wasted no time smearing the entire perimeter of his mouth. Opening his eyes to see this, Neal watched Mime Bomb move a tube of lipstick with an expression of concentration as his tongue poked thoughtfully out the side of his own mouth.

Once done, he'd simply stepped back and given Neal's face a 'Ta-daaa~!' motion with his hands.

Neal touched his face lightly, brow going up as he realized the bait-and-switch, before cracking up. That had been a slick move, he would say! Then he simply rolled along with it, posing glamorously and asking, "Well? Is it me?" He'd asked if he should try it out, so he might as well get the review!

Mime Bomb placed a hand over his mouth in a silent snort. It most certainly did _not_ suit the tall, pale, muscular man, or at the very least bright red was definitely not his color. Mime let one of his cheeks pinch as he offered a vehement thumb down, though some sympathy was still in his half-smile, as well as a heaping dose of mirth.

...

The pair did have to return the boat before day's end, but that was fine. They were going to steal it back by night anyhow, to avoid suspicion. If they committed the crime while they were renting the boat officially, it would have been all-too easy to track back to the source through receipts.

Neal and Mime Bomb simply spent the rest of their time sight-seeing by foot and having another meal at a restaurant with outside seating. Neal was also apparently much more interested in buying grotesquely novelty souvenirs. Mime Bomb couldn't say he was much for tacky tchotchkes, but it was still fun to mock Neal for his taste in oversized sunglasses, cheap bobbly-headed knickknacks and brightly-colored clothing that could not have painted him as more of a tourist in any part of the world.

As the day wound down, there thankfully being no sight of Team Red, and Neal more than happy with his bagged assortment of frivolous purchases with stolen money, the slimy Kiwi hemmed, "This was truly a great load of ticks off the old bucket list. Thanks for joinin' me on the Venice Highlight Reel, Mimey. Really mean that." He got a questioningly quirked brow of disapproval for addressing the other in such a way.

As ever, Neal went on nonplussed. "Glad we got most of the important stuff out of the way. Only real regret is now Oi've booked a hotel room for more nights than expected." A soft chuckle. "Oi mean it's not _my_ bill, but Oi really had hoped to do a bit more while Oi was in Venice." A thoughtful beat followed by an impish smirk sent the other man's way. "Unless of course you wanna make the room a bit more worthwhile, come over and get some use out of it."

Mime Bomb had to stop walking as his brow went up fully now, and the next second his arms had crossed as he gave Neal a highly unimpressed expression that clearly asked if Neal had really just said that. What did the New Zealander take him for? He'd gotten used to the flirting and had great fun doing so in return, the entire day turning into a sharp-witted game of back-and-forth, but this was something he was adamantly not going to nibble at. It wasn't like the idea itself was unappealing, but really? On a first unofficial date? During a _mission?_

Neal snorted at the huff and rolled his eyes. "Don't get yer tights in a twist, bruv. Business, Oi know. But Oi _do_ need to stop off and drop my things before we head out." He lifted and patted the side of his largest shopping bag.

Dusk was finally upon them, the sun just lowering over the horizon, and it was time to head back to the boat rental and get their plan underway. By the time they got there, it would be fully night.

That Mime Bomb could agree with. However, just to be on the safe side, he opted to remain _outside_ while Neal went into the hotel building, just to discourage any distracting flirt opportunities.

...

On the docks they'd launched from before, Neal and Mime Bomb were just running down the list of everything they needed and preparing to move a large, specially-lined storage crate into the boat they were taking when a voice called out in alarm.

Looking, the two V.I.L.E. agents saw the old man who owned the rental service coming for them, demanding to know what they were doing and yelling that the place was closed. Then he said the line that got Mime Bomb's eyes narrowing and declared he was going to call the police if they didn't leave.

This man wasn't supposed to be here. Did he live in the back of the shack or something? Well, it was unimportant now. Now he was a problem. Finger to his lips, Mime Bomb turned his narrowed eyes towards Neal, other hand waving to signal that Neal should carry on as he stepped back, down off the dock and into the shadows. Mime's shushing hand went to tap his temple, indicating that he had a plan.

So, as the man got closer, he would see only one figure on the dock: Neal, simply standing tall and raising his own hand in the air as a friendly greeting. "Evening, mate! Oi'm sorry, what was that you're saying? Something about being closed? You see, these screwy time zones have got me _all_ mixed up and Oi just _really_ fancied a boat ride, y'know? Me and my...souvenir crate here! Any way we can work that out?"

The man seemed puzzled by this flippant reaction, but regained his composure and reaffirmed that this place was closed and that if Neal didn't leave he was having him arrested for trespassing. Mime Bomb reappeared silently behind the old man's shack, a determined, purse-lipped expression on his face. He nodded once, and Neal smiled, carrying on talking in circles as the man in pancake makeup stepped closer and closer until he was directly behind the rental shop's owner.

The owner had just had a moment of realization, recognizing Neal from his earlier visit, when he was cut off by two arms slipping deftly around his body, pinning his arms at the shoulder, while twin hands in white gloves gripped his face and immediately twisted it.

Suddenly the old man's eyes were instead wide and his throat gurgling as he tried to protest, his windpipe straining under the degree his neck was twisted, each second pressing it even further. Behind him, Mime Bomb's eyes were shining clear with a mix of concentration and excitement, but his face remained hard as he put all of his effort into getting that snapping sound he needed. It was always harder than it looked to break a neck.

Neal stood with bated breath, unsure if he needed to step in. His arms were poised, but it looked like Mime Bomb had things under control. Actually, he looked...pretty scary right then. Cold. Intent. Eager. But also...quite cool. An elite V.I.L.E. agent did what they had to do, and without hesitation, Mime Bomb was proving that he was willing to cross any line to achieve a goal for the organization. Neal could see in that one expression how he had earned his stripes, for lack of a better term.

Then, it happened. The old man's neck broke, and he stopped moving, sinking to collapse on the ground as Mime Bomb let him go. The younger man took a moment to smile down at his hands and let out a cathartic sigh through his nose. Then he glanced up to Neal, who had also relaxed once the shop owner was dead and he'd seen he wasn't needed.

With a half-smirk, Neal tutted, "You _are_ cold...sure that wasn't overkill, though? Get it? 'cause you just killed that guy?"

Mime Bomb shifted his lips sarcastically before leaning forward and raising his arms in an exaggerated position as he tapped an imaginary watch, widening his eyes to accentuate his point.

Neal put his own hands out in a casual motion to calm down. "Yeah, Oi know; time crunch; better to just get him outta the way for sure and not risk him making a call on us; just a tease, mate. You warm the boat up, then. Oi'll call for The Cleaners." Thumbing towards the boat behind him, he crouched to pull his phone from the rucksack they'd been using and dial up V.I.L.E.'s headquarters and request a body be made to disappear.

...

Not long after, the speedboat was quietly petering its way to a halt not far from the museum the villainous pair was set to rob. The atmosphere was thick with anticipation. As Mime Bomb pulled over to let Neal out so he could find the sewer entrance he needed, the shorter man let out a horse-lipped sigh to ready himself for his own role to come.

The boat jostled as Neal let out a startled yelp and stood sharply, turning from the curb he'd been looking towards and whirling to face the noise, pulling out the twin sets of electric brass knuckles he'd been provided as weaponry in the process.

Seeing Mime Bomb giving him a wide-eyed stare and holding his hands up in confused surrender, Neal realized that the sound had come from him and sagged in a bit of sulk. "That was _you?_ " At the nod he received he tossed a casual point at the bereted man. "Thought you weren't supposed to make _any_ sound, mate! Scared the living daylights outta me!"

Mime Bomb quirked his brow, but then sniggered silently and popped his lips a few times as he mimicked shooting his partner with two sets of trigger fingers. Then he mocked Neal's jumpy reaction by biting his bottom lip to imitate Neal's large front teeth and cowering behind his arms.

Neal rolled his eyes. "No, Oi didn't think ya were _dangerous._ Just thought maybe we had a stowaway...or something. Oi know it's not usin' your voice, but Oi didn't expect it, alright? Pre-heist jitters, let's say." He wasn't actually nervous about committing the crime, or even encountering opposition during the break-in, as he thrived on the thrill of the job, but after being taunted he didn't want to admit Mime Bomb had startled him that bad without even trying to.

Relaxing, Mime Bomb tipped his head in a sympathetic smile. Alright, he'd been mean enough. As a show of good faith, he stood as well and stepped to give Neal a pat on the shoulder.

This did seem to cheer the slippery operative up. He returned the small smile appreciatively and drew himself up with his own breath of preparation to get him back on track. "Right then. Wish me luck."

He'd been about to turn away and hop onto the curb when he felt himself stopped by a sudden double grip to the front of his tech-lined bodysuit. Glancing back, he found Mime Bomb still wearing that lop-sided smile, although glancing downward off to the side with an air of debate and almost bashful hesitation.

Then it seemed the decision was made and Mime Bomb pulled himself forward to press his body flush with Neal's, closing his eyes and giving him a solidly-delivered kiss.

It had been such a weirdly fun day. Neal was difficult, pass-offish, gross, contradictory, cunning, deceptive and incredibly dorky, but he was so fun. He blended so well with Mime Bomb's own difficult traits. He got him. Mime Bomb felt like he could grant Neal one kiss for the good time. Better to get it in now than risk the off-chance something went wrong inside and they had to part ways here, as well.

Neal could say a kiss was about the last thing he'd expected right this second. Hadn't Mime Bomb been mocking him just now? And now he was sending him off, wishing him luck with a _kiss._ This revelation made Neal's heart pick up faster than the jump he'd had at Mime's lip noises.

Well, once again, why look a gift horse in the mouth? Mime Bomb had gotten him, caught him off-guard. He would just have to relent to that. Instead of questioning why it was happening, Neal let a sigh out through his nose and relaxed into the kiss, enjoying that it was. Letting his own eyes slip shut, he basked in the sweet gesture while he could, appreciating the tranquil lake and the admittedly romantic clear, starry sky with a gorgeous moon to highlight the atmosphere.

Neal had barely gotten to process it and give the kiss back, the entire exchange lasting a mere handful of seconds, when Mime Bomb was already pulling back. Not before one last little spark was created by one gloved hand delivering a playful squeeze to Neal's tightly-clothed, well-rounded behind, however.

Naturally, as soon as his lips were free, Neal had a comment. "Eel-ectric~," he smirked, effectively wiping the fond smile off of Mime Bomb's face. In fact, that one word got a hand shoved in his face to push him away while the other waved a rather pointed 'bye-bye'.

Neal just laughed openly at this fussing, obliging and getting out of the boat with his weapons and the mask he was going to be disguising with in tow.

Though Mime Bomb fumed, his body language still held a distinct tone of amusement. His pushes were not offended ones. More like he was exasperatedly shouting that _of course_ Neal had to ruin the moment! _Of course_ he still had a pun ready in spite of being unprepared! And _of course_ he thought it was hilarious to frustrate Mime Bomb when he was trying to be nice! Genuinely romantic, even!

"Right then!" Neal echoed his earlier intended final comment with a much brighter inflection, "You get yourself in position for pick-up. Oi'll just slip myself in, contact you when Oi've made my grand entrance, and Bob's your uncle~!"

Mime Bomb just mimed a mouth flapping with his hand beside a frumpy face, indicating Neal was yammering. Neal laughed some more at this and saw himself off with a two-fingered salute off his temple and a wink.

Behind his back, Mime Bomb made sure Neal wasn't looking before he smiled fondly again.

...

As it turned out, the heist did not go as smoothly as the last time Neal had encountered Shadow-san. The slimy man had come in to find V.I.L.E.'s ex-ninja seemingly wrapped up in some sort of dramatic discussion with someone Neal had never seen before, so he'd taken it upon himself to just steal the masks while those men and Carmen Sandiego were distracted.

Unfortunately, in the middle of his bold pilfering, Neal had been noticed, a fight had ensued, and Sandiego had used his own element of slipperiness against him with a bottle of olive oil she'd gotten from who knew where. Neal was particularly bitter about that. And his face was sore thanks to being quite rudely introduced to Shadow-san's foot.

It was a good thing Mime Bomb had been so adamant about focusing on a Plan B. Learning those canalways had come in handy too, as a high-speed boat chase ensued. However, things only continued to go pear-shaped as the night-long conflict made way for sunrise. Sandiego managed to pull a bait-and-switch of her own on the villainous duo with the loot, and on top of that, the police ended up finding the culprits as they pieced this together while parked.

Mime Bomb tried to warn Neal about the approaching police officers, but it seemed like Neal was having one of those random moments of failing to communicate. In fact, he was quite dense about the frantic warnings his partner was trying to articulate. Maybe he was flummoxed by the ruse or upset about being duped, but whatever the reason for ignoring Mime Bomb's display, Mime Bomb did not feel like the other was worth going to prison for. He simply sagged, fed up, abandoned Neal and hopped overboard before the police could arrive, and reported the eel man's ensuing capture to the V.I.L.E. staff. If he couldn't figure out an encroaching danger this severe, he deserved getting caught.

However, as his report was given, he did reflect on the notion that, if Neal was released or escaped all of this without getting memory-wiped like the last operative taken in by the authorities, that he wouldn't mind playing the long game with him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp. The final season has dropped, so time to delve into some freeform headcanon territory. *deep breath* Here goes nothin'.

With an expression of blatant puzzle, a ginger man in his mid-twenties, an orange short-sleeved jumpsuit, and a full face of mime makeup found himself escorted to the prison phone area. Quite bluntly, he had absolutely no idea who would be calling him.

Firstly, he had no contacts outside the Villains International League of Evil, and that organization had fallen a good several months ago, finally taken out by long-time opposition and ex-operative turned goody-goody, Carmen Sandiego. And secondly, he was a mime. Was the caller...aware of this?

Shifting his lips at the receiver resting on the shelf of the wall phone he was escorted to, Mime Bomb could only be more curious. Sparing one questioning glance to the escorting guard standing near, the young man picked up and put the phone to his ear. He heard only a dead, awkward silence, and so hoped whoever was on the other end understood Morse Code, attempting to catch their attention by tapping out a 'hello' on the mouthpiece.

He was not through the third letter when he was interrupted by a bright, exuberant, heavily-accented New Zealand voice.

"Mimeyyyy! There you are, bruv! Oi was startin' ta think you'd run off," this voice chirped before chuckling at its own joke. Mime's memory jogged, his face falling into stun as he instantly recognized the owner. This was Neal. Neal the Eel. A man Mime Bomb had only gotten the chance to work with twice during the end of his time as an operative, and only one of those times as proper partners, but during that time...there had been sparks.

Mime had questions. How had Neal escaped having his mind wiped for a second time after that second mission had failed? For that matter, how had he escaped it the _first_ time, when he'd been arrested? Capture was grounds for mind wiping, and yet Neal had been given another chance. How was he not in prison himself? _Was_ he in prison? And why was he calling Mime Bomb? Why now? And was he...okay?

Mind racing, Mime barely got to tap out a W and an H to begin questioning when Neal interrupted again, seemingly predicting everything Mime was going to ask. He did have an uncanny knack for reading the silent one, although without seeing him it was above and beyond.

"It's me, Neal! Bet yer surprised to hear these slick tones~. Well, Oi know we didn't get to catch up in China, but after that caper went belly-up, Oi figured it was probably better if Oi laid low for a while, y'know? Slipped out on a nice, relaxing cruise aboard this  _delightfully_ dank fishing boat, and took a bit of personal time doing the world tour thing while Oi made sure V.I.L.E. wasn't after me as much as Team Red. Decided Oi didn't wanna risk Professor Bellum giving me the old brain drain again. Or jailtime. Seems like you weren't as slippery as Oi was when it came to that, though."

Another chuckle as the slimy Kiwi yarned. This last quip was enough to change Mime's attentive expression into one of irritation. He didn't appreciate the jab at his situation, but knew Neal well enough that he ought to have expected it. At least now he knew Neal was not, in fact, incarcerated.

Seemingly predicting the reaction he'd get again, Neal went on, "But before you hang up on me, Oi  _am_ goin' somewhere with this. Lo and behold, during my self-imposed sabbatical, Oi find out V.I.L.E.'s been taken down! Imagine my shock! Well, followed by a huge load off. No more headhunt. Seems like Old Red's not hung up on anyone who's not an 'active operative', too, so Oi'm golden. Oi'd say Oi pretty much quit when Oi slid out V.I.L.E.'s back door, wouldn't you?"

He paused politely, like listening for a regular person's response, to which Mime Bomb had no response but a blink. He moved to tap out a warning that he was on a time limit with the phone, but again Neal continued without waiting for a complete sentence. "Right, so long story short, naturally Oi couldn't help but wonder what became of my favorite partner in crime. Dug around, found ya, and well, Oi can get ya outta there if you like. Whisk you away somewhere nice. Whaddya say, you feelin' up for a _real_ date yet?"

Mime Bomb could imagine Neal coyly curling a phone cord around his finger as he reached the end of his proposition. Neal was...calling him to ask...for a  _date?_ He'd gone on the run, waited for the heat to die down and then come to find Mime Bomb for that.

Somehow that actually...seemed quite in-character for Neal. Had their unofficial mission date and flirty games meant so much to him?

Most importantly, it caught up to Mime Bomb how casually Neal had suggested...he could get him _out_ of here??

This time, Neal did wait to hear the reply, which was a very urgent, hard tapping of the word 'how' followed by repeated 'yes'es.

Neal chuckled amiably. "Oi'm sensing you're more in love with the idea of leaving your not-so-invisible box at the moment," he returned, "Well, fair enough. First thing's first. You just leave everything to me, and Oi'll have you out lickety split~. Just don't go anywhere, alright~?"

One could practically hear the cheeky wink thrown in with this jab. Mime Bomb sagged in distaste at another quip making light of his situation.

"Well, Oi'll let you go, then," Neal finished nonplussed, "Gonna have to if Oi wanna get over to ya by tomorrow. Ciao, Komrade!" After this flippant farewell, a blunt click signaled the other end had been hung up.

Mime Bomb pulled his receiver away and stared at it for a second before moving his eyes forward into space. That was...definitely not the call he was expecting. Granted, he hadn't _known_ what he expected, but an offer for freedom, from _that_ man, had to have been the lowest on his list of guesses.

Hanging the phone back on its hook and turning to the guard to offer a shrug and step closer so that he could be escorted back to his maximum security cell, he had to wonder if Neal was really serious. Could he really get Mime out of here? He'd sure sounded confident. Then again, Neal always sounded confident. As one of the most skilled operatives in their now ex-operation, he kind of had the right to be.

Well, all he could do was wait and see, Mime supposed as his clear, plexiglass door slid shut and his old professor Gunnar Maelstrom glowered from his own cell across the hall, displeased that his respite from Mime Bomb had come to an end.

So, to pass the time, the silent clown turned to the devious man of mind games and stuck his index fingers in his mouth, taunting his scowl with the first of many extreme faces. Maelstrom had never been his favorite, and the feeling was rather mutual.

...

Bright and early that next morning, Mime Bomb found himself startled awake by an attention-seeking pound on his cell door. He sat up sharply and found a guard there, barking at him to hurry up and get moving, because right after breakfast he needed to escort the ginger freak to the head office.

Mime Bomb had frowned sadly at first, assuming the harsh jolt to be standard unpleasant hazing, but then, wiping the sleep from his unpainted eyes, as he did not sleep in his makeup, registered the part about the head office and his spine straightened, recalling the promise from yesterday. Was Neal really here? Already?

Suddenly full of energy at the prospect of ending his sentence early, the silent man sprang out of bed and slammed a hand to hook the edge of the breakfast tray the guard had gruffly stuffed through the slot in his door. The guard stepped back at the intense way the tray was yanked and the silent weirdo shoveled a handful of food straight into his mouth with his hand. In or out of makeup, this prisoner was unpredictable and off-putting, and the messy bedhead didn't make him look any more sane as he overstuffed his mouth.

Mime Bomb glanced up, thinking the guard might know something about why he was being taken and became eager to confirm. At once he slammed himself against the door, stuffed cheek pressed tight to the glass and eyes bulging in implore, the hand smudged with food clawing and giving a slow drag at the man on the other side, trying to show he desperately needed to know the reason for his escort.

With a wary vocal note, the guard took one more step back, but stood taller and came back to the cell to slam the glass where Mime's face was with a fist. "Don't try any of those mind games, boy! Just eat your slop before I have to come in there and force it down your throat! Not that you didn't already have a head start." A disgusted curl of his lip at the way Mime Bomb had been eagerly shoveling his food with his hand.

Alright, maybe Mime Bomb did enjoy overacting and being creepy on purpose to freak others out just a little, but here he was just trying to ask a question..! Was it his fault nobody could read him well? Stepping back and hunching his shoulders meekly, he frowned again before turning his expression into a flat sulk, falling to sit cross-legged on the floor with a 'thunk' and going for another pouty chomp of breakfast macaroni.

Across the walkway, Maelstrom had slowly opened his own eyes with a low groan and rolled over to sit up neatly, though his hair too was impressively mussed. _"Do_ try and keep it down, will you?" he complained, "Some of us would prefer waking in a _civilized_ manner. For once?"

Leaning around the guard blocking his view, Mime Bomb crushed his eyes shut and shot Maelstrom a bratty stuck-out tongue.

Maelstrom simply maintained a cold glower and blinked evenly as another irritated groan slipped from his nose.

...

Shortly, Mime had wolfed down his meal and gotten himself cleaned up. He was so excited at the prospect of leaving this stifling hole that he almost considered skipping his makeup, but it just wouldn't feel right leaving it off for a special occasion, assuming it really was one. Besides, Neal might not even recognize him without it.

Forming a valentine with his fingers, he sent Maelstrom the most sarcastically sugary smile as he was ushered down the hall at T.A.S.E.R.-point. He couldn't very well let his prison buddy think he was going to forget about him while he was gone, could he?

Predictably, Maelstrom's face only soured and he turned his back pointedly on his ex-associate, informing him that with any luck, the office was going to move him to Death Row.

Mime Bomb rolled his eyes at this, but as he walked, couldn't help thinking that it was true he didn't know what he was really being summoned for. It wasn't possible for him to actually be put on Death Row, for he hadn't even appeared in court yet, but it could still be something bad. Unrelated to yesterday. He got nervous the closer the office came. Nervous and hopeful.

Luckily, this seed of doubt did not have long to germinate, but it still amplified the wave of relief the bereted man felt when he entered his destination. More than relief, Mime Bomb felt an intense surge of disbelief, joy and gratitude.

There, turning to see who had arrived, was a tall, well-built man with short, oily, black hair and prominent front teeth. That was Neal alright. That was also all Mime Bomb needed to register before his glee forced him to rush forward.

At the desk, a grizzly older gentleman was in the middle of asking, "And what is your relation to the..?"

Neal had cut him off, face brightening when he saw the clown enter. "Hey! There's the man of the hour! What's shakin', Mime Bo--oomph!"

He in turn was cut off as the silent one pounced, sending both himself and the taller man collapsing comically as Mime Bomb clung tightly and pressed Neal into the floor with a hard kiss.

He was so grateful. It hadn't been a lie. Neal had actually come. _Anyone_ had come to save him from festering in a dull cage for the rest of his life. From an unpleasantly brutish environment with no privacy. If all Neal wanted was a date for doing that, Mime Bomb was more than happy to give him a jumpstart. He wasn't sure how else to express just how glad he was feeling anyway.

Casually, the thickly-built man at the desk leaned forward to observe the prisoner's affectionate greeting pinning his guest, then leaned back and narrated as he scribbled on the form he was filling out, "Significant...other..."

Meanwhile on the floor, Mime Bomb could sense Neal needed to breathe and lifted himself off the other, still beaming widely, but upon backing off caught sight of what Neal was wearing and quirked his brow instead, accompanied by a judgemental purse of his lips. It was hideous.

The Kiwi man was dressed floral in a loud blue and yellow Hawaiian shirt and even louder oversized yellow shorts. His sunglasses, resting atop his forehead, had little palm trees decorating the sides. Strangest of all, he wasn't wearing his bodysuit underneath the get-up. It was weird seeing so much of his skin.

Neal sucked in a deep breath once his lungs were released, but was already smirking. "And a _fine_ how-do to you too, buckaroo. Are you just happy to see me, or is there something in your pocket Oi should be worried about?"

This turn of phrase only got Mime Bomb to consider perhaps that he should not have been so eager after all. Indulging Neal only made him more incorrigible, he was recalling. Not to mention the post-impulse embarrassment deciding to catch up with him the longer he stared at this poorly-dressed goofball's flirtatious smirk.

Bringing a closed fist to his chin, the man in pancake makeup mimed clearing his throat and stood, awkwardly taking a modest stance with his arms behind him. He faced the man at the desk.

With a tut, Neal gathered the straw sunhat that had fallen off during his tumble and joined Mime Bomb in standing, still giving him a smarmy side-eye before also looking to the man at the desk. "So _anyway..._ as you were saying?"

"Well, I'm just about done with _my_ records..." the man returned, seemingly having no interest in what had happened. He'd seen a lot in his years working this prison, and so long as nobody was being shanked, he didn't have to break it up. "All your documents are in order, so once it's finalized with your signatures, we can get him processed pretty much right away."

Glancing to Mime Bomb, he informed, "Congratulations, son, your man here's gone and sprung you. Gotten you off with the lawyers, paid all your fees up front, is accepting full responsibility. That's some dedication." This Neal fellow deserved that kiss for his effort, he'd say.

Neal gave a breezy shrug. "Muh, Oi know people. Just a lucky consequence of being so friendly, Oi'd say."

Mime Bomb's posture lifted, again feeling a rise of disbelieving joy in his chest. It was really, actually true. He was being let go! He didn't even care to correct the fact that he wasn't actually _with_ Neal, instead just beaming with elation as the form he needed to sign slid forward with a pen resting neatly on top.

"Sign here," the man at the desk told both of the others, absently brushing a finger through his white comb mustache.

Quite readily, Mime had stepped forward and grabbed that pen. Poised to sign, he paused when he felt a presence hovering over his shoulder, and glanced a quirked brow at Neal, who had come close and was staring with keen interest and a curious smile at the empty signature line Mime was about to use.

Catching Mime's look, he returned lightly, "What? Are you going to _tell_ me your real name if Oi ask nicely?"

Letting a breath out through his nose and rolling his eyes at how nosy Neal was, the ginger man brushed it off and in a rather elegant and tall, but strong and tight cursive, wrote the name Ashton Mín. Then he tilted his arm slightly to offer the pen Neal's way, radiating a distinct aura that said 'happy now?'

Neal looked plenty happy, even more interested to see that name spelled out. "Oh..! Mín? Are you Irish, then? Fascinating. Oi never would have guessed by your accent."

Forming a cross expression, Mime Bomb put his fists on his hips and sent his exasperated impatience rather sharply towards the taller man. That was an awful joke, and he did not feel this was the time to be making cracks at his expense. With the light at the end of the tunnel so close in sight, he was in a bit of a rush to leave.

Neal sighed, finding the other's irked reactions as endearing as ever, but also understanding that the prisoner was likely antsy. He reached to take the pen, but still couldn't help playing around a little bit more. He'd missed being around someone that could sass on his level.

"Alright, Oi hear ya," he allowed, moving towards his own sign line. "Hey, but on the topic of interest, what if Oi told you Neal wasn't actually my real name?"

Mime blinked, distracted by this. Actually, it kind of _would_ be interesting if...

"Well, that would be a lie, 'cause it is," Neal grinned, "But. What if Oi told you it wasn't my _first_ name?"

Mime hesitated, a bit confused and not trusting why Neal was bringing this up now, although it would still make sense from a perspective of undercover work...

Shrugging in further amusement, Neal quipped, "Wouldn't ya know, that'd be a total fibberoo, too~!"

Now Mime had no idea what Neal was getting at and was irritated beyond reason, clawing at his face, his lower eyelids pulled down in a great show of being fed up. In the next second he'd wrapped his fingers around Neal's throat.

Neal couldn't help a laugh as he successfully hit Mime's threshold. He'd hit the man at the desk's too, by the way his head was bowed and he massaged his forehead with a heavy sigh.

"Sir, are you planning to sign off on this or not..?" It seemed like it would be a waste to get all the way here and then not take the man he'd come here for.

Realizing strangling Neal in front of the man about to let him walk free would be a bad idea, Mime quickly took his hands away before he looked up. He still pouted, though, arms crossed.

Neal let his own arm slide around the man beside him in consolation, giving his upper arm a rub. "Sorry, bruv. You know me. Just can't resist a bit-a fun first. 's been too long since Italy. And Oi do like learning about you." Promptly, he swirled a nice, loopy signature reading Neal Linnett onto the line waiting for him. "There. All better?" he cooed to the now ex-prisoner.

Centering himself with a deep inhale, the silent man supposed he could forgive the other since he'd actually followed through. Maybe Neal really didn't know how to express himself through anything but puns and quips. It wouldn't be very surprising. Mime was going to have to be sure to train him to watch his boundaries if he kept this up, but he offered a small smile to show that he was still very glad Neal had come to his rescue at all. In turn, Neal smiled back sincerely.

Not long after, Mime Bomb had been issued his release certificate and escorted to the reception desk. There he was given his old clothes back, along with the meager belongings he'd had on him when arriving that hadn't been confiscated as V.I.L.E. property. That boiled down to a wallet and spare makeup. It wasn't Mime's wallet, but he wasn't about to announce the fact.

Then, he was outside, gladly sporting a grey and black sweater and black tights, the sun beating brighter than he'd experienced in what felt like forever. Still, he greeted it with an open-mouthed grin before hooking his thumbs together and sending his hands soaring as he performed a giddy pirouette.

Stepping out behind him, Neal confirmed, "Yup! Free as a bird." A beat. "So! You got somewhere to be, or can Oi offer you a lift into town?" He thumbed in the direction of where he'd parked. This was a legitimate question, as he didn't know if Mime Bomb had arrangements outside prison, but he knew most inmates didn't have a lot waiting for them and could use a helping hand upon release. If the younger man was anything like the rest of V.I.L.E.'s recruits, he would be an orphan and have no family outside of the organization, as well.

The bereted man had to pause in his prancing, realizing that he did not in fact even own a car, much less have a long-term plan of what he intended to do at the moment. He was very capable, but it seemed like Neal might have a headstart on planning, and not being alone actually seemed like it would be preferable in this situation. It was quite lucky that Neal seemed to think so little of offering him support. Clasping his hands and stepping closer, he nodded graciously at the invitation for a lift.

"Swell," Neal agreed, "Right this way." With a little flourish and a bow he began walking, and true to his nature, also seemed incapable of refraining from chatting with the nearest person. "We can go and get your probation guff out of the way, but after that, Oi really was hoping to catch up. Like can you tell where Oi took my time off?" He invited the other to inspect his Hawaiian tourist outfit with spread arms, and Mime had to glance him up and down, catching sight of a pair of appropriately dark green Crocs he had not noticed on the other's feet previously. His nose wrinkled.

Neal caught him staring downward and put his hands on his hips, noting the judgement towards his footwear. "What? They're practical! Slip on, slip off~." He liked clothes that were easy to slide in and out of.

Mime gave him an unimpressed smirk before rolling his eyes with a slight shake of his head. Neal was still very attached to his theme of slipperiness, it seemed. Well, to be fair, he had been incredibly clever with it.

Deciding to humor Neal and answer the obvious question, Mime also wobbled his arms from side to side and swayed a little as he walked, vaguely imitating a hula cliche.

Glad to see the younger man wasn't closed off from conversation, Neal chirped back, "Right you are, clever cookie. Oi did take some hula lessons as well, if you're interested. You ever been to Hawaii? You wanna go? We could head back right now."

Mime couldn't help a silent snort there, just picturing Neal dancing. It might be worth taking him up on the offer just to witness that. Smiling coyly, he offered back a 'we'll see' kind of shrug. The first thing he wanted to do was relax a little now that he was part of the outside world again, but he wasn't sure he wanted to go all the way to Hawaii to do it.

"Fair enough," Neal obliged, "Actually, Oi have been looking for a more permanent place to settle in light of recent V.I.L.E.-related events, and well, in light of _you_ -related events, Oi was wonderin' if you'd be up for the idea of bunkin' with me? Oi am technically responsible for you now, and it might be fun, getting to know each other as roomies, more convenient dating proximity..."

Mime blinked his eyes wider hearing this. It seemed Neal had been much farther ahead in the future-planning process than he could have expected. He was looking to set up his own roots, and was prepared to offer Mime Bomb a roof if he needed it. And he still wanted to date. More than once, it sounded like. Well, the silent man did also recall that he himself had had thoughts that if Neal had gotten out of his predicament without losing his memories, that he would not mind playing a more long-term flirtatious game with him. And Neal had escaped with his memories intact. Come to seek him out, in fact.

Mime Bomb had honestly not expected to see Neal again after being sent to prison, so now he had to consider if his thoughts about him were still entirely valid. He remembered the man fondly, and was willing to repay his kindness with a date, but did he still want to try for a real relationship? He'd never tied himself to another person in such a way. Never felt inclined.

Then again, he also remembered the way Neal managed to read him so much better than anyone else. He wasn't flawless at it, but he was still eerily good, and more than that, he responded like Mime Bomb was talking regularly. He was not impatient with the way the ginger expressed himself, and in fact seemed to enjoy his unending round of Charades just as much. He took part in the games. Understood Mime Bomb on a level no one else ever had. It was very refreshing. And he'd come all the way here to spring him from jail, just so he could ask for the chance to pick up where they left off...their time together must have actually meant a lot to the Kiwi.

Looking up from the contemplative dip of his head he'd taken, Mime Bomb simply lifted his hands palms out, and pushed them forward before spreading his arms and looking around to ask where.

Neal had stopped walking, having reached his car in the dusty parking lot. "Hold that thought; Oi'll tell you on the way. But you're walkin' past your ride, mate." He patted his hand on top of the driver door he stood by.

Mime Bomb blinked, turning his head for a double-take. _That_ was Neal's car? It was so nice, he hadn't even registered it at first, assuming it belonged to some big shot who worked here.

Taking a closer look, though, it did not look like it belonged to anyone who ran a prison. It was sleek.  _Incredibly_ sleek. Low and wide in the body, rounded and shaped almost exactly like a  Bugatti Veyron, but with the tires bumped slightly outwards. The windows were all highly streamlined, tinted as black as the body paint, but their outer rims were highlighted with a stark blue-green neon. The tire rims and a highlight on the doors matched this color, and headlights glowed fiercely with the same, the license plates doing likewise in a slight underlighting effect.

Actually, if Neal had been wearing his V.I.L.E. bodysuit, it looked just like him in car form.

Well, Neal might not have had taste in clothing, but this car made his muted companion mime out a low whistle as he ogled.

Neal couldn't help a hint of pride in his smile. "Ya like it? Oi do think it's a pretty slick ride, myself. Top of the line. Why settle for anything but the best, eh? Crime is such a rewarding career, you gotta splurge." The slippery man did not see money as much of an object, especially since half the time it wasn't even his money he was paying with. His own bank accounts were loaded quite heavily after a nigh-life-long and successful criminal career, though. Just because V.I.L.E. had disbanded didn't mean he didn't have other options to fall back on.

Opening the driver door, Neal noted, "So don't worry about it if you think your fees were much to sneeze at. Oi'm not plannin' on holding you in indentured servitude. Oi just think you're a loose thread worth followin' up on." A brief wink was sent to the other. "Well, hop in."

A flutter burst to life behind Mime Bomb's ribs at this sudden flattering confession. It was a familiar flatter. That way Neal had of catching him off-guard at the most random moments and charming him by being charmless. His breezy amiability, loyalty and fairness despite being on the side of evil. It all came flooding back, and the muted man couldn't help his face warming in fondness. Yes, perhaps sticking with Neal for the moment would be most preferable.

Sliding into the passenger's seat, he took an impressed glance around the fully black leather interior, admiring the blue-ish glow of the smart interface in front of the shifter, before putting his hands behind his head and leaning back in the seat with a smile, stretching out in the ample leg room and closing his eyes with clear approval. He was taking a page from Neal's book and choosing to get comfortable far too immediately.

Neal noted this with an amused tut as he pulled out of the parking spot and got them moving. "Makin' yourself at home already? Should Oi be jealous?" The younger man seemed more ready to move in with his car than him.

Mime Bomb peeked out from under one eyelid and gave a lazy poke of his tongue Neal's way in a teasing manner. He hadn't sat in a luxury seat for quite some time. Let him have this.

It was Neal's turn to give a slight roll of his eyes, though it was not bitter. It was kind of cute the way Mime Bomb was so eager to return to the finer things in life. And he could not be blamed.

Having another beat to think about everything Neal had said, however, Mime Bomb flicked his gaze out the window towards the distant French suburbs they were headed for, and then back at the man driving, opting to follow up on his earlier proposition. He prompted Neal to begin telling him about his plans by pursing his lips in question and moving his hands to form the outline of a small invisible house.

"Gingerbread house..?" Neal gathered in the short glance he took, eyes needing to stay on the road. "Oh! Ah. Yes. Oi did say Oi was gonna tell you more about that. Well, the idea is to touch down somewhere the law's got nothin' on us. Fresh start. You ever committed a V.I.L.E. crime in Canada..?"

Putting a knuckle to his chin, Mime Bomb had to reflect on that, but eventually answered with a shake of his head.

"Peachy," Neal beamed, "Me neither. Oi was lookin' around, and Oi'm thinkin' of this nice place in New Brunswick. Spacious, low cost of living, home of the arts, but lots of woods around...thought it seemed like a cozy base. Whad'you think? You up for it?" At heart, he was actually a little nervous that Mime Bomb wouldn't want anything to do with him after they hadn't seen one another in so long. That he had seen their games and that kiss they'd had in Venice as  _ just _ a game. But even when things got hairy, Neal's interest in the other had remained. It had never been anything but genuine, and this man was so unique, he truly did want to continue getting to know him, and potentially form something real. Living together was a big step, and he was afraid it might be intimidating, but he really did feel it would be the most convenient, and he wanted to offer as much support to the other as he could, not seeing it as a big deal since he was someone he cared for.

Just listening to this, Mime Bomb felt an edge of wistfulness creep into his mind. It started to hit. There was really no more V.I.L.E. Nowhere for him to go back to. If he'd been on his own, he wouldn't have just been laying low; he would have had to carve out a new path for himself and build a new life. Neal was certainly a trade-up from Professor Maelstrom as his only tie to his past, but he was starting to absorb the realization that if he didn't have Neal here offering to help him build that new life, he would have just been some random Irish brat again, keeping to himself and likely returning to the dark web circuit, his main source of income before V.I.L.E., and committing petty crimes and disturbing people for the fun of it on the side.

By comparison to what he'd had as an elite member of a world-wide organization, such a life by his lonesome seemed like a sad thing to return to. So much less...grand. And he wasn't even going to be able to jump straight back into crime. He'd been to prison. Carmen Sandiego was likely going to find out he'd been released. So he was going to have to play nice and not raise any attention. Pretend he'd gone straight. He was going to have to be...a civilian.

Bitterness entered his face as he recalled what life as a civilian had been like. It was a life that had led him fast into crime. He'd hated it. He didn't want to go back.

But...he supposed it was better than prison. Glancing back up to Neal, grateful on another level now that he had someone who was willing to not leave him alone on the outside, he gave a relenting nod. New Brunswick did sound like an ideal settling place for ex-convicts.

Noting the rather careless agreement and the shift in Mime Bomb's tone of posture, Neal ventured, "You...alright, bruv?" He was glad to hear that the other was onboard, but he sure didn't seem enthusiastic about it.

Mime Bomb gave him a dull-eyed look, but he knew he could not explain himself in full while Neal was driving. He just put a limp wrist forward and motioned it in a pass-offish way, telling the older man not to worry about it.

"Muh, well, if you're sure..." Neal did not sound so sure about dropping it, but thought perhaps he could pry again later when they were in a more settled environment. "So...speaking of no more V.I.L.E. then...can Oi  _ call  _ you Ashton..? "

Mime Bomb's eyes widened, a sting directly related to the things he'd been thinking hitting his gut harder than he could have expected. It was true. No more V.I.L.E. No more codenames. He didn't  _ need  _ to be Mime Bomb anymore. But...he loved his codename. He'd come to think of it like his actual name, even if he'd still had to go by his first name during classes, before a codename had been picked. Thinking of referring to himself as 'Ashton' again felt strange on his proverbial tongue. It was so dusty in his mind. It sounded strange on Neal's literal tongue.

Crossing his arms, he hunched and formed a slight sourpuss, not ready to give that up just yet. He was still wearing his Mime Bomb outfit. He was still Mime Bomb.

Neal passed another concerned glance across the car. The quiet clown was getting weirdly defensive quite quickly. "Was it somethin' Oi said..?" he wondered, "Oi'm sorry if Oi messed with you too much...you don't have to agree to all this if you're really against it...ok? Oi swear Oi'm not gonna be offended or come after you or anything. Oi'll be happy knowin' you're out there enjoyin' yourself instead of cooped up in there." He gestured to the world around them before thumbing back towards the prison.

Looking down, the man in makeup felt bad now. He hadn't meant to make Neal think he'd done anything wrong. Well, he had not appreciated the hazing about his release, but Neal had already apologized for that. Here he was doing nothing but being kind in offering Mime Bomb a fresh start. Mime Bomb also did not want to just run off after what Neal had done for him. He did like Neal. He just wasn't sure how the other was taking the fall of his criminal family and home so easily. Maybe he'd just had more time to process it on the outside?

As they rolled to a red light, the ginger man straightened his back and inhaled deeply to steel himself, putting on a smile and reaching to touch Neal's hand on the wheel. He nodded once in assurance that nothing right now was Neal's fault. Lifting his other hand in a point, he pivoted his elbow like a clock hand.

A soft smile came to Neal's lips. "Later," he agreed, "Once we have a hot minute though, we've gotta talk about this. Oi know somethin's eatin' ya." Reading people was one of the Kiwi's best skills. He wasn't going to let Mime Bomb's brooding slip past him. "That's a nix on the name, though..?" he wondered.

Mime Bomb sat in a proud puff, one hand fluffing his beret while the other pulled lightly at his horizontally-striped sweater where a lapel would have been.

"Right. Maybe later on that, too," Neal supposed, "You certainly look more like a Mime Bomb right now, anyway." With the stoplight changed, he turned his attention back to the road with a squint, scanning the buildings lining the sidewalks of Fleury-Mérogis, in search of that pesky parole building he'd set up an appointment with. It was just his luck Mime Bomb had been captured and processed by a French inspector. It was not his strongest foreign language.


	3. Chapter 3

With the rest of the boring, stuffy paperwork out of the way, Mime Bomb was officially a free man, Neal would announce with a casual stretch of his arms overhead as they exited an office building. It had only taken three tries to find the right one. Now, the taller man would suggest, how about they take a stop to celebrate?

This did bring a thoughtful smile to Mime's face as he put a finger to his chin and glanced to the side. Looking to the man beside him, he placed a hand on his stomach.

That was how they ended up seated in the quaint booth of a restaurant only a short walk away. The small table between them was packed so full of food there was no surface to be seen, and most of it was Mime's.

Elbows on the table and fingers laced under his chin, Neal watched slightly transfixed as his companion stuffed quiche, pasta, salad and bread into his mouth at an incredible rate. "Do they not feed you in prison..?" he had to wonder. He'd never been. He had no idea what the grub was like on the inside.

Mime looked up from the small mountain he was devouring and cleared his mouth with a thick swallow before turning to the side, opening his jaw and bending, sticking one finger inside in a universal indicator of throwing up. Even if he'd been fed, prison food was disgustingly bland, mass-produced swill. By comparison, even this average restaurant quality was Ambrosia, full of variety, and he wanted to indulge. His meager breakfast had hardly been enough to fill his belly.

This made perfect sense to Neal, but it was still interesting to note how greedy the other could be with food. They'd shared a couple of meals prior, but Mime Bomb had not eaten to nearly this excess. "Fair. Still, scrawny thing like you, Oi had no idea you could pack it away like that." A tut. "Guess you're just full of surprising secrets, eh?"

Amiably, Mime gave a coy little shrug and reached across the table to help himself to a hearty bite of Neal's tartiflette.

"Oi! Cheeky..!" The outburst held more of a tone of mirth than anything. Gaze dropping to another of his dishes, Neal poked one of the items on the end of a long fork and waggled it in offer. "How about a snail then, sticky fingers? Just about the only thing left you haven't touched. They go down slow and savory~."

At this, Mime's face exhibited some genuine disgust as he leaned away. That was one cultural barrier that was too much for him to cross, and the fact that Neal so readily wallowed in all things slimy was almost enough to damage his appetite. Neal was himself clean and good company...but he was also still gross.

Knowing Mime Bomb was somewhat reserved when it came to slime and filth, Neal's lop-sided smile widened in amusement at the reaction. It was also a reason he was glad the other could look past a preference like that for him. It made him feel like Mime Bomb did value him on a personal level. "You're right. You've got plenty," the jokester shrugged, satisfied with his squeamish revenge, and turned the fork for his own mouth, happily munching the slick, buttery morsel of meat.

Mime's lips wavered as he watched how easily it had vanished, and shuddered. Don't think about when it had been alive, he told himself. Pushing any thoughts of snail ooze away, he shot back at Neal by picking up his own fork and flicking a speck of sauced noodle at him.

It struck Neal's cheek as the man took his turn flinching away from the assault, but he turned back with a playful smirk, thumbing the sauce stain away. "Oh, Oi see. You'd rather feed  _ me.  _ Well, let it never be said Oi'm not an equal opportunist in this relationship." Slowly, he placed his thumb to his lips and suckled the dab of sauce off.

Now Mime's brow went up as he felt his cheeks warm slightly under a suggestive gaze. Damn Neal and his effective sporadic flirting. Stubbornly, however, he refused to make the mistake of indulging the man again and turned up his nose in insistent refusal to acknowledge the action.

Ah, that took Neal back. Just like old times. Mime Bomb's side of the game had been very grounded in taunting resistance. Taking the snub to mean the redhead was actually accepting his advance in this case, the Kiwi pressed, "You already kissed me, luv. Gonna be hard to say you're not interested this time around." He watched in smug amusement as the other darted his eyes around and half-started to make a few excuses with his hands before simply letting his face fall flat and signaling a zipping motion across his mouth. Referencing that wasn't allowed. Temporary insanity, he would claim.

Neal chuckled. "Are we callin' this the date yet, then?" If the fun had begun, he would say so, but it was Mime's call.

Mime's eyes shifted in contemplation. Did he want this to be the date? He would have expected it to be more planned, but he had to agree that just now had been a ripple of nostalgia hearkening back to the banter they'd shared so many months ago. It was fun. It took Mime Bomb's mind off of worrying about the future, and he'd already decided he'd wanted to unwind before tackling anything else.

Oh, very well. Figuring he could grant Neal that much, he gave a reserved nod and motioned his wrist in breezy carelessness, saying he supposed so. As he did, though, he felt an unexpected flurry in his gut. Calling it an official date was a little nerve-wracking, it seemed. And a little exciting.

Across the table, Neal's expression perked, and then softened fondly. "In that case," he quipped, "Oi got a little somethin' for ya. Voila!" Reaching behind him, he then pulled out nothing, but presented his arms forward like holding a sizable object. "A lovely bouquet of invisible roses~. Oi seem to recall you being the flowery type."

Now Mime perked with a blink. The pretend flower was in fact one of his favorite bits, and he'd used it on Neal to test his willingness to play in pantomime. The fact that Neal remembered that moment that had started their back-and-forth, and was turning it around with his own spin, was more thoughtful than he might even realize. It certainly confirmed that he was still more than willing to speak Mime's language.

Unable to prevent his face from expressing some warmth, the bereted man reached to take the invisible bouquet, admiring it in his own arms before turning to place it in an invisible vase. There he fluffed them and leaned forward to take a whiff of the imaginary roses.

"Glad you like 'em," Neal beamed. He'd almost been worried his idea might be considered some sort of slight, but he knew Mime appreciated when he was played along with, and wanted to show he remembered.

Turning a bit more reflective, Neal admitted, "Y'know, Oi'm glad we got the chance to meet up when we did. Any later and we'd have been out of work without ever getting the proper chance to get to know each other." They'd known  _ of  _ each other, but they were four years apart in graduating and had not had a mission together until Venice. Rather lucky, considering how that day had gone was solely responsible for leading them to this moment. "Pretty ironic, though, that  _ Oi'm  _ the one who got arrested, and yet you're the one who got sent to the hoosegow in the end." A tut. "Funny old world, eh?"

Funny was not exactly the word Mime would have used, but he understood the meaning and had to pause in reflection for a moment himself. It was true. If they had not had that day to form such an unexpected connection, things would be very different now. He supposed all it took really was just one little coincidence to make all the difference. Quite honestly, he was glad Neal remembered him. He was touched Neal thought enough of that day to pick up where they'd left it. If it had been him, he wasn't sure he'd have been as ready to spring the other man on a whim and invite him along on his post-V.I.L.E. plans. He was much less impulsive, and really, not very thoughtful of others. That was another reason Neal ended up standing out. He had a way of making Mime want to bother engaging with him.

He remembered being bummed that they never got the chance to stand in the same room on their second shared mission, though. So maybe he would have missed Neal enough to look for him in the end. Remembering this also reminded him of some more questions he had, and he decided to take the opportunity since they both wanted to catch up. Facing Neal, he pointed at him, then placed his fingertips to his temples and pretended to be shocked by a jolt of electricity. Then he opened his palms forward and shrugged with an inquiring expression.

A more reflective chuckle there. "Ah, yes, that  _ was  _ a rather unusual circumstance, wasn't it? Oi hardly expected to be sent out again myself. They sure  _ tried  _ to sap my synapses, but turns out it didn't take. Little did they know, Oi'd already taken precautions on the ride over and swiped my temples with some jolt-dampening goo, but little did  _ Oi  _ know how Oi was supposed to react after the whole thing. Guess Oi said the wrong thing, 'cause the Good Doctor was rather shocked herself, and turns around and says the whole darn machine's gone screwy regardless. Wouldn't ya know, Oi coulda relaxed either way. Well, Oi  _ was  _ relaxed, but that's beside the point."

A light shrug here, and Mime was surprised at how easily the other could discuss being hauled away to have his mind altered. It was like he was talking about curious weather patterns. "Oi just went with the flow of the room, really. Wasn't hard. Maelstrom was feeling  _ unusually _ generous and giving the latest faculty failure another shot at sticking around, and Oi thought hopping onboard sounded better than being locked in a holding cell. Oi'm sure you can relate."

Mime let his lips shift in a hint of unimpress, but let that one go. It wasn't the worst, and might have actually been a genuine attempt to relate. It was hard to say. But if it wasn't, he refused to let Neal continue to get a rise out of him with references to incarceration. One thing he did have to grant was that he could no longer judge Neal for having been arrested, for not only had Neal had a plan and succeeded in escaping his punishment, but Mime himself had failed to slide through the law's fingers.

"Being out and about was the right call, too," Neal noted, "Since, as you know, Carmen Sandiego put the kibosh on our caper in China. Made it a lot easier to slip away. Oi knew Oi wasn't gonna get out of trouble again - don't think Oi've ever seen Maelstrom go for a  _ third  _ strike - man'd be terrible at baseball. But Oi'm loyal, not stupid. And Oi don't have trouble turning my back when someone's already betrayed me. Not too keen on the way V.I.L.E. had changed their tune about me, that's when Oi figured Oi'd do best on the opposite side of the globe for a bit."

Mime Bomb was starting to understand how the other man could seem so carefree about V.I.L.E.'s downfall. He'd already had no love left for them, finding it easy to drop a soured relationship. The ginger clown was almost envious, for he was unable to see the organization in the same light.

Neal smiled gently. "Happy thing to realize: having no memory of V.I.L.E. would mean no memory of you, either. Just another thing to count myself lucky on." He watched Mime put his hands on his lap and turn his face bashfully, then opted to keep from getting too sappy. "So what about you, then? How  _ did  _ you end up behind bars? You're such a wily one, hearing about  _ that  _ was almost as much of a shock as hearing about the collapse in the first place."

Here the silent man made a regretful expression, tightening his lips grimly. Then he shifted posture and formed a small set of action poses before picking up a pretend smartphone and poking away at it, bringing it to his ear.

A sympathetic brow pinched across the table. "You were mid-mission when it happened," Neal understood, "Oh, bruv, that's gotta smart." Active operatives had been targeted fast and hard from what he'd found out. Mime Bomb had likely had no chance to even try and duck away.

Mime Bomb nodded and elaborated. That call he'd been on had actually been to the V.I.L.E. faculty room, for a report, and it had been just in time to see A.C.M.E., the agency dedicated to stopping international crime rings like theirs, storming right through. They'd unavoidably seen him on the giant screen the cavernous room held, and despite immediately seeing something was wrong, hanging up and throwing away his V.I.L.E. phone, he had been compromised and his position was triangulated. He had not run far before he'd been caught up to and carted off to A.C.M.E.'s nearest station in France. From there he'd simply been placed into the proper legal channels.

Seeing the way Mime Bomb's arms lost their enthusiasm as they carried on their motions, ending in a slightly shameful slump, Neal hastened to cheer the other up. "It's alright, mate. Could've happened to anyone." Black-rimmed eyes looked back up to him and he offered a consoling smile. "So you got unlucky. Oi'd say that's all been undone now.  _ Now  _ you're on a date, and all you've got to concern yourself with is having a good time. Right?"

He was guessing some of this was what had been bothering Mime Bomb in the car. He must have not felt the best about how things had gone. In light of that, it was easy to see why perhaps being teased about his capture was not taken so well. Neal should make an effort to avoid so many jabs at a sore area. At least for this man.

Grateful that the taller man sympathized with his plight at the very least, Mime Bomb did return the encouragement with a small smile. It brought another flutter to his gut to hear the date officially recognized. And yes. He didn't want to ruin his own enjoyment of what was supposed to be a celebration of  _ leaving  _ prison.

Trying to move the tone back to something lighter, he did put a finger up in note, recalling a point of interest. Lifting his hat so he could smooth the other hand over his scalp in an attempt to illustrate a receding hairline and hair itself that plastered to the skull, he next lined the lapels of an invisible rigid jacket before hunching and rubbing his hands together in an overly seedy way.

"Oh? What about Maelstrom?" Neal's head tipped curiously. His brow rose when Mime Bomb mimicked gripping jail bars, pointed across the table, and then performed the same action to indicate mirrored cells. "No way. Really? He was your neighbor..!" A quick incredulous laugh. "And how did that go, then?"

With a smirk, Mime Bomb flipped his wrists palms down and spread his hands in a negative motion.

Neal's smile only spread eagerly. "Oh yeah? You and old Cryptkeeper don't get along very well?"

Mime Bomb shook his head in long sways. Never had. He found Neal's choice of nickname amusing, too. Maelstrom really did resemble such a character.

Attaching to this topic, the silent clown then decided to share some stories of his time in Maelstrom's classes. He told of how Maelstrom had found him particularly frustrating because his mind games simply didn't....work on Mime. Not like most. Their fair-haired professor had little patience, much less for pantomime puzzles, and did not enjoy the flippant, sometimes taunting way Mime Bomb gave his playful dialogue. As well, he was irritated to find Mime Bomb drawing on his inkblot cards to give answers and perturbed that his traditional methods of creating insecurity with words seemed to go in one ear and out the other with the silent one. Mime Bomb was simply unimpressed with his methods, and thought Maelstrom was trying way too hard, focused far too much on simply being creepy. He was not bothered by a sly tone or doubts about who he was. He was very opinionated and enjoyed the odd dabble in the disturbing himself. The pair were simply too alike and too different in all the wrong areas to get along. Mime actually started to like pushing Maelstrom, making a game out of annoying him. Even when Maelstrom discovered that the slimy creatures he stored were a good counter-measure, it only strengthened Mime's resolve not to lose.

And, for as much grief as Maelstrom got, he could not even dock Mime Bomb's grades, for the muted man was incredibly bright and his performance was always excellent. It was even more deliciously frustrating.

Being in glass boxes with only themselves, Mime had had the upper hand in being at odds with his former instructor, and had made the most of his old game all over again.

Neal was greatly entertained, and had his own experience he could not help but share. He'd found it quite the opposite in the slime department. Maelstrom seemed quite disappointed that he would gladly stick his hands in a bowl of grubs for a closer look. But Neal could relate to confidence causing some failures in the mind game department. Neal agreed that their old professor tried a bit too hard there. However, he didn't go out of his way to harass the man. He preferred getting along with his fellow evildoers, and tried his best to remain friendly. That wasn't to say he didn't still give Maelstrom a hard time, as such teasing was hardwired into his personality, but he didn't think there was quite as much animosity between himself and their creepy teacher as there was with him and Mime Bomb.

This of course also didn't mean he didn't love hearing about the brilliant ways Mime Bomb had made life difficult for Maelstrom. He was more than happy to sit back and watch the other mime out scenarios before moving onto other areas to reminisce about until the food at their table had disappeared.

From there, Neal asked what his companion would like to do next, but Mime did not have a real plan, so the two simply opted to walk some of their meal off and sight-see a bit, looking for anything that struck their fancy. This was a bit nostalgic too, walking together around a country foreign to the both of them.

"Ah, Fleury-Mérogis," Neal sighed in mock wistfulness as they meandered through lightly-trafficked streets, "That most well-known French city of love. Gotta say, Oi'm lovin' the whole...regular city vibe they're goin' for. Very much downplaying the grandeur. Very modest of them." This did get an appreciative silent snort from the other as Neal gestured towards a fire hydrant that had been graffitied. There really wasn't much to look at besides, well, the prison, which was the largest in the country.

Still, Mime Bomb found it a privilege to be able to walk anywhere he wanted, and was quite content with the lackluster scenery for now. Neal seemed to be too despite his quips, but then those just seemed to be inevitable from him.

"Good thing Oi'm not picky," the slippery man carried on lightly, "Oi'll admit Oi might fall prey to more than just the odd tourist trap, but fun's where ya find it, and Oi can find fun just about anywhere. Just to keep in mind, though, how's your finances? We on a budget, or are we more in the vein of anything goes?" He wouldn't necessarily mind paying both their ways, but he got the sense Mime preferred to be an independent. He'd insisted on covering his own meal.

Mime flipped his wrist with a slight roll of his eyes. He wasn't broke. Or useless. In fact, spying a woman sitting on a bench they were about to pass, he held up a finger and smiled, telling Neal to watch.

As they did pass, Neal turned and rested his hands casually on his hips as he watched Mime perform an exaggerated stop, grabbing a pretend pole and double-taking as though the woman had caught his eye. She turned her head, and he tipped his beret before promptly beginning a descent down an invisible flight of stairs.

As he disappeared behind the back of the bench, the woman turned further to see where he'd gone, but he'd already vanished, and turning back around, she would jump to find him popping up next to the armrest, offering out a single invisible flower.

Putting a confused but charmed hand to her collar, the woman chuckled awkwardly and took the flower, and Mime Bomb bent his knees to sit on an invisible second bench. He pretended to note something troublesome, and reached behind her ear, only to pull his fingers back like a magician might hold a coin. He pretended to be surprised, and then let his face fall, his palm falling open as well, showing that he was saddened it was merely an invisible coin. This time he took his beret off and offered it inside up with a hopeful beam.

A tad flustered, but forming a pitiable smile, the woman reached for a purse beside her to dig for some change. That she dropped into the hat with a short "c'est bon", and the painted clown closed his eyes in a gracious smile before standing and taking his leave with a small bow.

Rejoining Neal, the pair continued walking, and before Neal could say anything, Mime Bomb held up his other hand, around the forefinger and thumb of which draped the gold necklace with a jewel pendant the woman had been wearing. A smug lop-sided smile went Neal's way as Mime dumped the chump change into his palm, put his hat back on, and stuffed all of his earnings into his pants pocket. Even if there had been nothing leftover in his bank accounts, he knew how to earn on the go.

Neal had to admit the impromptu performance had been effective. "Slick," he complimented genuinely, "But that better not have been one-a  _ my _ roses." A teasing chuckle, which earned him a jostle from Mime's elbow, and then he brought up a more legitimate note. "Just remember, you do have a few statute of limitations to run out. Might wanna wait until you're out of the country you were caged in before you start doing that sort of thing willy-nilly. Although of course Oi'm quite sure Carmen won't be watching for every petty little crime in the world. Only the big stuff." There was simply no way she could watch out for all of it. Still, it was going to be better to make sure she wasn't specifically watching  _ them  _ before trying anything too bold, and she was likely to hear that one of V.I.L.E.'s best had been released without ever facing trial in any of the countries he'd committed crimes in.

Having already realized this, Mime Bomb's shoulders sagged, having to relent to Neal's points. It was better to be safe than sorry. He wasn't going to want to risk even raising the attention of regular law enforcement. Not for a while.

His posture straightened again as he felt Neal take his thinly-gloved hand. He quickly looked at the other man, down to where he had indeed slid his hand around Mime's, and back up to his eyes.

"Oi'm not tellin' you  _ not  _ to do it," Neal assured, "Oi'm just sayin' to watch out is all. Hold off for a bit. Oi'll even help you get back in the game when the time comes, if you want. But the last thing Oi want is havin' our date cut short by  _ another  _ pesky arrest to undo."

Warmth poured into Mime Bomb's chest at how clearly Neal cared for his well-being. That, and such easily-offered support, was not something he was used to. But he appreciated it. And kind of liked how it made him feel to know it was there.

In thanks, he softly squeezed Neal's hand back. It was a date, after all. Such things were generally appropriate.

Very happy with the thankful smile he received, as well as how his hand was accepted, Neal was content to leave the heavy conversation at that and turned his attention back towards the buildings the pair passed, hunting for anything that looked fun. There were a lot of escape room type attractions in this city, he noticed. No doubt capitilizing on the prison aspect. Normally Neal would be all for such a thing, saying that he and Mime Bomb could waltz through something like that in no time since they both thrived on brain puzzles, but right now he was quite sure any closed room was not something the redhead wanted to be in, even if it was one  _ meant  _ to be escaped.

Luckily, those weren't the  _ only  _ recreational options, and at last Neal spotted one that made his face light up. It was an activity center that offered a variety of indoor things to do. "Oh! Look! They've got bowling!" he announced as he pointed to it, "You wanna try there?"

Mime Bomb leaned to look at the place Neal was indicating, and considered. Well, there was a nice list of activities on the sign. Why not? The two were likely to find something they could enjoy together. Bowling didn't sound bad.

Inside certainly boasted a variety. It resembled a huge warehouse with different areas marked off for designated use. There was of course an entire bowling alley along one side, but then there were also a few sports fields for ball games and badminton, an area for arcade games, darts, air hockey and the like, an arena for flying drones and using other electronic vehicles, a trampoline section, a ball pit, and perhaps most notably, a large section of climbing walls and other structures meant to be scaled.

These Neal was fast to point towards as he nudged Mime in amusement. "Hey, speaking of our old instructors, those givin' you flashbacks to Coach Brunt's training exercises too? Whaddya think, wanna have a race for old time's sake?"

Here the smaller man had to take a step back, putting his hands up in a defensive negative. Then he lifted his arms in a body builder pose and frowned at each stick-like specimen of svelte weightlessness he possessed. Coach Brunt's classes were the area he had been least successful in. He was not a fighter or tough at all. What he lacked in those areas he made up for in foresight, deftness and elusiveness, for not being hit was just as useful as hitting back.

Neal laughed in good nature at this adamant display. "Was only a suggestion, mate. Oi agree, you definitely don't  _ look  _ the type for sporting activity. Gonna say though, it might be more fair than you think. Oi was never much good at Coach's class either. Slippy fingers." Here he held both of his own hands up and waggled his digits playfully. Getting ahold of crevices in the walls had not been the easiest for him, and in weapons training, dropping a staff or having a tool knocked out of his hands had been a little too easy, even if he was fairly strong in combat. It was one reason he'd been so grateful when Professor Bellum had fashioned him a suit that not only aided his strengths, but included such incredibly gripping palms. Alas, that was not something he could wear much in public right now, at least not without standing out a little too much.

Mime could easily picture Neal struggling this way when he'd been at the academy. He'd noticed Neal's hand was incredibly warm to hold, and now that he'd pulled away, he could feel a damp residue ever so slightly lingering on his glove. It was mildly unpleasant, actually, but forgivable. And he still didn't want to climb anything, which he affirmed with another small shake of his head before pointing to the bowling alley and walking towards it. Hadn't that been what Neal was excited about in the first place?

Neal followed easily, having no complaint. Climbing really had only been a suggestion anyway. Another nostalgic jab.

Once taking an empty lane, Neal glanced to an occupied one beside theirs and his lazy smile widened. "You wanna know one place Oi shined, though: taking down the competition. Watch this. You'll love it."

Swiping a hand through his oily hair as he walked towards the next lane, he waited for the family that was using it to divert their attention. Once he saw an opening, he strolled through casually, stopping behind their ball dispenser to poke his fingers into one of the balls waiting there. In a flash, this had been done, and he strolled just as casually back to Mime Bomb, who was seated behind the score table and entering their information, as though nothing had happened.

The younger man glanced at him, but then both kept their attention on the family. Both took extra note when the one who happened to pick up the ball Neal had touched was a young boy no more than twelve. Oh, this was going to be good.

The boy stepped up to the lane, tongue out in concentration as he gave a few test swings to line up his shot, and then swung extra hard as he let the ball go.

It slipped off his fingers immediately in a way he clearly hadn't intended as evidenced by his surprised exclamation, and veered sharply towards the gutter. There, instead of stopping, it skipped, jumping into the air and over into the next lane, happening to strike another ball coming down it and knocking that one off course as well. The first ball, however, had lodged itself into an nice dent in the neighbor's lane.

The boy's hands were over his mouth in guilt, his mother mirroring the pose. The father was already rushing to apologize to the group of friends in the next lane, who were openly complaining in dismay.

Neal laughed as the fallout unfolded, that going far better than he ever expected.

Mime Bomb laughed too, silently. He'd put an elbow on the table console and put his fingertips to his forehead. Neal was still very much a prankster, too, it seemed. And good at it. He certainly knew how to make the most of himself, owning his excess moisture one hundred percent. Had he always been this good at owning his quirks? Mime had to wonder. It was very respectable.

Quite pleased to see the other shaking with muted mirth, Neal considered this outcome a double win. A happy Mime was the best Mime, in his opinion, and he felt very accomplished to be responsible for his condition.

"Only regret, though," he noted once they both had calmed down enough, "Is that it's all too possible Oi might end up doing just the same. Bet you'd laugh even harder seeing that." He waggled his fingers again, lamenting that in this case, though he was practiced at holding things when his palms might get sweaty, that slickness could be a double-edged sword.

While the man in makeup could admit that watching Neal slip all over himself might be very entertaining indeed, he took a moment to ponder an idea instead. Then he reached for Neal's hand, bringing it close, palm up, as he reached into his pocket to pull out a compact.

It might not have been as good as, say, chalk dust, but his touch-up makeup  _ was  _ sweat resistant, and this powder should mitigate the problem to a degree.

Neal's brow went up as he watched Mime Bomb apply that powder to his palm. When released, he brought it closer and wiggled his fingers again, indeed feeling much less clammy.

"Clever cookie~," he praised, to which the redhead beamed in a contradictory blend of smug modesty. Then Neal noticed what Mime Bomb had entered him as and scoffed with a snort. "Oh... _ immature,  _ though. Really?" Another short laugh.

The painted clown had entered himself as simply 'MIME', but the second player had been entered as 'BUTT'.

In response, Mime Bomb simply shrugged in coy innocence now. He wasn't without his silly moments.

Lowering a brow in challenge, Neal noted, "Of course, considering your codename, the way that's arranged just looks like you call yourself Mime Butt now."

The other's brow went up in turn and he noticed that yes, reading the player names together did in fact look like that. Hurriedly, he tried to fix it, but there was no way to alter what had already been put in. So he puffed his cheeks in dismay.

This just made Neal chuckle more. "Too late, bruv. You're Mime Butt now. C'mon, Mime Butt, call up some pins already. Oi wanna get started sometime today."

It was only met with further amusement when the younger man brattishly shoved him several times in annoyance. Amused annoyance, but annoyance nonetheless.

The game went well. This pleasant, banter-filled atmosphere remained. Neal was pleased to discover his grip was in fact aided by the powder Mime had provided, and he put his other hand though his hair again to see what kind of spin applying some grease to the outside of his ball would grant. Mime Bomb would wrinkle his nose at this, but laugh when Neal claimed he brought new meaning to the term 'greaseball'.

Their scores were close, neither being particularly stellar at this game, and in the end Mime Bomb managed to win by only a handful of points. It did not stop him from gloating, however. Neal rolled his eyes, but had to allow it.

After this, Neal wanted to give climbing a real try now that he had an antiperspirant to help. That wasn't something Coach Brunt had ever provided.

Mime was still very uninterested in exerting himself in such a way, but he was more than happy to watch Neal attempt to clamber up a strange-looking tower of oversized, brightly-colored spheres. Against his already loud outfit, and given his height, it looked very out of place. He failed to make it to the top, as well, ending up dangling upside down and swinging in his harness after a graceless spread-eagled slip around a particularly large curve

Neal would still laugh, claiming that was better than he'd ever managed to do in class. Coach Brunt would be proud.

Neither was interested in any of the sports, but Neal did manage to coax Mime Bomb into a few rounds of air hockey. The smaller man was no match for him here, alas, not having experience or reflexes suited for such a game. Neal would gladly take his chance to gloat, and Mime Bomb would roll his eyes, but tolerate it out of fairness. Then he would simply content himself in watching again as Neal tried out some of the arcade cabinets. The only one of these he joined was a racing game the player got to sit inside, but he was a little more interested in the destruction than winning, chasing after Neal, singling his car out and sending them both into a fiery explosion. It was still highly entertaining, and they delighted in more than a few rounds on that machine.

Lastly, the pair took an interest in the RC area. In particular, Mime wanted to fly a drone. He was displeased with the speed, however, and made sure no one was watching before hunching to tamper with it. The result was a much speedier aircraft that zipped through the air quite dangerously. Neal was impressed, and both men took turns flying this, harassing other fliers until one careless motion resulted in the blades of their altered drone slicing off the ponytail of a woman on the other side of the field.

She hadn't yet noticed in the seconds that followed, but Mime Bomb and Neal shared a guilty wide-eyed look, gently set the controller down, and decided they'd better leave before she did.

Outside, they were more than able to laugh about it in the aftermath. And getting away with it.

The sun was setting by this point, so after picking up some portable dinner, Mime Bomb questioned where Neal was staying by staring and putting his palms together, placing his hands under his tilted head like a pillow.

"Oh, you know, living in hotels as usual," Neal shrugged, "Nice one, though. Oh, and don't worry, Oi thought ahead for you."

Mime Bomb would see what this meant once they'd driven to the current hotel Neal was booked at. It was indeed nice. Spacious. And Neal had checked in as a pair of neighboring rooms that were connected by a door. He'd been considerate enough to plan for Mime to have his own bed and privacy, but this arrangement still made things easy enough if Mime needed him for anything.

This Mime did greatly appreciate, and with only a little thought, before he settled in for the night, he did take the opportunity to knock on that dividing door.

Neal had already made himself comfortable, answering in a long deep emerald bathrobe and black yoga pants. "Alright, bruv?" he quipped, "Lookin' for a good night kiss~?"

Ironically enough, a half-smile said, Mime nodded.

Taken aback, Neal couldn't help an, "Oh..?" He looked about in suspicion. "You're trying to trick me, aren't you?" It was never that easy to earn affection from the ginger.

In so many hand gestures, Mime Bomb simply pointed out that the date was over, and he'd enjoyed himself immensely. A kiss was tradition at the end of a fun date, wasn't it? He just wanted to say thank you, for the good time, and for his freedom one last time. This time less impulsively.

Well, it didn't  _ sound  _ unreasonable. Actually, Neal found it incredibly sweet that Mime Bomb would want to express gratitude in such a way. "Muh...alright," he granted, still just a little suspect, but willing to nibble. He couldn't say he wasn't into the opportunity.

He leaned forward, letting one hand slide around the smaller man's waist while the other held the doorframe. His suspicions were dashed as all Mime Bomb did was step closer with his pull, hands pressed gingerly against his chest as he too leaned forward to meet the other man's lips.

Both their eyes closed as they shared a relaxing sigh. It felt every bit as good as Neal remembered to have a tender moment like this with the other, and it was indeed a fine topper to the evening, just as their first kiss had been. Perhaps that was all Mime Bomb had been looking for. A recreation of that moment, letting Neal know he appreciated him just the same. It was enough to melt the Kiwi man's heart.

Mime Bomb felt a surge of warm sparks, much more strongly than either kiss prior, erupt throughout his body. It stunned him. He truly was glad, he truly was grateful, and, it seemed, he truly enjoyed this man's company. Neal was so comfortable to be around, especially after being reminded of how  _ nice  _ it was to have someone understand him so well. He made the redhead feel good. And it looked like he really could find himself drawn to him.

Unexpectedly finding that new idea a little bit intimidating, Mime Bomb was the first to pull away. The pleasant nature of the kiss lingered on his lips and the shock of desire echoed in his chest, though slowly fading, as he stared unsurely at Neal.

Opening his own eyes, Neal's motormouth came to the rescue before any silence had the chance to become awkward. "Well. Guess you  _ weren't  _ bluffing," he noted with a tut, "In that case...you're welcome." He smirked in a friendly manner.

On a more serious note, he added, "Just so you know, though, Oi'm not asking to be paid in sugar, either." A beat. "Not that it isn't greatly appreciated. Or Oi don't want more." Now he winked to keep the mood up.

It was very sweet of Neal to assure him that way, Mime Bomb would think, feeling another flutter behind his ribs, but he was already aware. Neal wasn't that kind of villain. Just wanting to absorb the revelation he'd had over the strongest attraction he'd ever felt, Mime Bomb lifted one hand to wave a short 'bye-bye' to his companion.

"Good night," Neal granted in turn, and shut the door. Through it, he added a chiding, "Don't let the invisible bedbugs bite~!"

Rolling his eyes fondly at this, Mime Bomb turned away and carried on getting himself ready for bed. So...he guessed he was into Neal properly, huh? Who would have thought? The taller man was not the kind of person he would have expected to go for, if anyone. But the idea of another date hardly sounded bad. The idea of forming a relationship didn't sound bad. Just...new. This kind of new was intimidating, but if it could be this good, then it was also somewhat exciting of a thing to try.

Only...was he still going to like it if he was stuck as a civilian? After they got to this house Neal was buying? Would it work? Would  _ Neal  _ still like him if he was a boring old regular Joe? Or even worse, when he learned more about the muted man, would he start to find him unsettling?

Looking at himself in the bathroom mirror, poised with a washcloth, Mime Bomb thought about how Neal hadn't even seen him without the makeup yet. What if he wasn't as attractive without it? He certainly didn't find himself very appealing without it. All of his confidence seemed to melt away with it, as well. He didn't feel like himself when he was plain-faced. The makeup was more freeing than anyone could probably ever understand.

He didn't even want to take it off now. It would be the first time he did in his new life outside prison walls. It would mean the official start of a new chapter for him.

Reluctantly, he smudged at his cheek a couple of times, before sighing and giving into the heat of the damp cloth and spreading it over his entire face. Ripping off the bandage was better. Get it over with.

Looking up, he stared at himself again, hazel eyes large and almost urgent. His skin was reddened and slightly puffy from the aggressive rubbing, but he was makeup free. He let his eyes glance over his mousy features, assessing himself, imagining this person becoming his new normal. This would be him. This would be Ashton Mín.

He felt himself reflexively bite his lower lip in a familiar meek habit being without makeup brought. A minor insecurity. But he did not like the idea of  _ not  _ wearing his mime face.

His brow turned downward, displeased, hating the unnerving wobble through his guts. Between this, V.I.L.E. and Neal, too many things were changing. Too many big things. And two of those things were a direct disservice to him. Things he was unable to do anything about.

Sourly, gruffly, he tossed the washcloth down onto the sink and turned away from his reflection. Whatever. He wasn't going to lose himself, as much as he possibly could. That much he was determined to not let happen. No matter what happened with Neal.

Sulking as he stepped into the shower, Mime Bomb just hoped he felt better in the morning.


	4. Chapter 4

After a hearty scrub in his own shower upon waking - he'd had one before bed too, but Neal tried his best to keep his oiliness to a manageable level in regular daily life - the Kiwi threw on his clothes for the day. This time a loose powder blue button-up patterned with flamingos, and the same kind of oversized shorts he'd worn yesterday, this time bright pink with a thick blue stripe up each side.

Once dressed, he knocked on the door dividing his and his cohort's rooms. "Mime Bomb..?" he called, moving to press his ear to the door, "You up yet? Knock something over if you can hear me..!"

Silence.

Lips shifting, Neal wondered if the other was a late sleeper. Putting a hand over his eyes, he reached for the knob and opened the door anyway. "Oi'm comin' in!" he announced as he stepped through, "If you're indecent or sleep naked or something, Oi apologize, but you're gonna miss breakfast if you don't get up soon. Also that's kind of what Oi wanted to talk about. If you've only got the one outfit, Oi can loan you some shirts or something. Least you know they won't be too small." An off-handed chuckle as he put his free arm forward. "Lemme know when Oi'm good to look, ok?"

Silence.

"Mime Bomb? Mimey?" Expecting at least a smack for using the cute form of his name that Mime Bomb was not fond of, Neal let out a short 'hm' when nothing happened. Deciding he'd better see what the situation was and that he could apologize later, he lifted the hand from his eyes and put both hands on his hips to find himself standing in an empty room.

The bathroom door was open and the room was not in use, a hotel bathrobe was on the neatly-made bed, and a used coffee mug was on a shelf by the room's provided coffee maker, but aside from that, there was no sign of anyone having been here.

"Oh. So that's why you're not answering," Neal noted, "You're not here." A little disheartened to learn this, he scratched the back of his head as he turned back to his own room. "Guess you did give me what Oi asked for, but Oi'd really hoped you weren't the type to date and dash." Alas, it looked like the other man hadn't been serious about joining him in Canada. Maybe he'd gotten cold feet. Maybe he'd decided he'd rather be on his own after all. Oh well.

Unable to say this hadn't been expected on some level, Neal just took a deep breath and chose to be glad with the time he'd gotten, and to head downstairs and get breakfast on his own. He enjoyed many conversations with total strangers there before heading back to his room and sitting on his bed, cracking open his laptop and deciding he ought to finalize some paperwork on the new house before working out the most scenic route he could take around Europe before he hopped across the pond.

As he was doing this, he heard a knock on his own door. Curiously, he looked up, and naturally went to answer.

There, standing in the hall, looking down at a smartphone, was Mime Bomb. He looked up when the door was opened, and his brow went up as his gaze swept over the ensemble even less fashionable then yesterday. Was he sure he found this attractive?

"Mimey!" Neal stunned, earning the irritated expression he was used to seeing, "You're still here! Oi thought you'd left!"

Quirking his brow now, Mime Bomb gave a silent scoff and moved to step into the room, pausing to give the taller man's forehead a teasing rap with the back of his first two knuckles, accusing him of being silly for that idea. Why wouldn't he be here?

"Oi." Rubbing his forehead reflexively, even though the strike hadn't stung, Neal watched Mime perk to spy his laptop and beeline right for it. Not really having a complaint about that at the moment, the Kiwi pressed, "Well what am Oi supposed to think when you're not in your room? Where'd you go? And why didn't you tell me?"

Pausing as he sat cross-legged on Neal's bed, Mime Bomb looked up with a heavily sarcastic quirked brow. He tipped his head and closed his eyes, mouth forming a graceless overexaggerated snore. One index finger pointed accusingly at Neal. Just to emphasize, Mime turned to fall onto his back like in a hospital bed, one hand somberly on his stomach while the other narrated the blip of a heart rate monitor before flatlining.

Neal's brow pinched in a hint of distaste at the display. "Ok, ok..." he waved off, "Oi get the picture." Maybe he was a heavy sleeper. Maybe his first assumption shouldn't have been that the other had run out on him, but he'd already been nervous about it. He didn't think he could be blamed. "So what were you off doin', then?"

Sitting back up, Mime traced an imaginary line around his collar, waggled the smartphone he'd arrived with before taking a short plug out of his pocket and using it to connect the phone to the laptop, and pulled some money out to wave briefly in show. After putting that away, while waiting for the phone to install, he pinched his shirt before miming a scrub. Then he simply started poking away at the phone with one hand while using Neal's laptop with the other.

"Ok, yeah...makes sense." Mime Bomb had simply run some errands, hocking the necklace he'd stolen, getting a new phone, doing his laundry, and acquiring some pocket money. Seemed like he'd thought ahead even faster than Neal. Rolling his eyes at himself, Neal did start to feel a little silly for jumping to conclusions.

Coming to sit on the edge of the bed with a sigh, Neal passed the moment off and leaned to look at the laptop screen. "And what're you doing now?"

Bringing his fists together, Mime Bomb turned them like snapping a twig.

It was Neal's turn to quirk a brow. "You're...breaking your new phone. Why? No wait. Breaking into somewhere...with the phone. Oi thought you were going to wait on things like that."

Lips thinning in annoyance as one of Neal's rare, random moments of miscommunication arose, Mime took a more conscious effort, looking at him and pretending to crack his knuckles. Then he opened a new tab and searched up a quick image of a tree, circling the cursor around the base of it before closing out and returning to the incognito window he'd pulled up.

Shaking his head a bit heavily, Neal sighed. "Right. Rooting.  _ Cracking _ your phone. Gimme a break, mate, it's early. And Oi half-expected you to not be here anyway."

Eyes shifting, the painted clown supposed he must have worried Neal more than he realized. The man did not tend to show weakness, so Mime didn't actually think he  _ had  _ worries like that. Maybe he could have left a note.

Pausing to look at Neal again, he passed him a sympathetic shift of his lips and reached to pat his shoulder. He didn't plan on bailing. He'd said he wanted to come along on Neal's journey and he still did. Neal was the only piece of V.I.L.E. he had left.

Neal didn't get  _ all  _ of that from just a look, but he got the consolation and the apologetic nature, which he appreciated. "By the way, it was very polite of you to  _ ask  _ for that." He nodded at the laptop.

Glancing at it himself, Mime's face turned guilty and he shrugged. He was  _ going  _ to...but Neal already had it out. He accepted the chastising, though. It was fair.

Watching in nosy interest as Mime surfed, recognizing the path but not the specific site he was logging into, Neal noted, "You're on the dark web? Oi didn't realize you were so...techy."

The silent man lifted one hand and wobbled it in a so-so motion. He dabbled. One of his specialties was code breaking, and this wasn't too far off from that.

Watching as the other went to his own profile and began grabbing folders, Neal blinked in further interest. "This is  _ your  _ site, too? What do  _ you _ do on here?" He turned keenly to the other, finding this information to be quite fascinating about the other.

Shrugging modestly, Mime Bomb didn't think the interest was warranted. It wasn't the most exciting business in the world. He sold decryption services and file batches for phone rooters. These files would allow a phone to go off-grid and perform region-free activity, mimicking what their V.I.L.E. tech had been able to do, and his decryption service was pretty much just for credit cards. That was the main business he'd started with. People would send him cards, and he would make them untraceable. A free swipe to spend anywhere.

Neal couldn't believe Mime Bomb would think he  _ shouldn't  _ be interested. His face was bright the entire time he was told about it.

"You  _ are  _ a clever cookie," he praised, "Oi never would have guessed you were such an entrepreneur."

Again, Mime shrugged, but he couldn't help a bit of a flattered smile. He hadn't been running the service nearly as much as he had a few years ago. He simply hadn't needed it after V.I.L.E. came along. Running missions for them had been far more lucrative. Fulfilling. Varied. Exciting.

His face slowly fell again as he thought about how he wasn't going to get to go on those missions anymore. He'd already thought about returning to the dark web, too. This may well be where he would end up again, just running his one-trick pony of a business out of some dark room somewhere.

Seeing the crestfallen look he'd seen on the drive out of prison reappear, Neal's brow pinched acutely as he picked up on it. "Alright, bruv. Spill." Seeing Mime look at him, he nodded once. "What's been eatin' you? You only just got out, and already every time Oi try to talk about you in any real way, you get all...moody. Do you not like me bein' into you so forwardly, or what? You'd prefer if Oi just had a casual interest? 'cause sorry to say, my interest is one hundred percent genuine, and Oi very much meant when Oi said Oi like learning about you. Oi'm lookin' for a real deal here, Jack."

Hearing such a blunt, adamant statement spelled out for him with unyielding eye contact made Mime Bomb's cheeks red in a big hurry. He was glad his pancake makeup hid most of it. Well. If there had been  _ any  _ shred of doubt about Neal's intentions, they had no right to remain.

The redhead must have resembled a deer in headlights as he frazzled over the demand for a real talk. Catching himself frozen as Neal continued to gaze at him with scrutiny and now folded his arms, Mime quickly motioned a silent clear of his throat, and then waved both hands in a negative, saying that that wasn't it. He had been perfectly fine with...letting Neal like him. His own developing opinion was something he was working on, but it had nothing to do with the brooding he hadn't realized had been so obvious. Then again, with Neal, he might have been more readable on average anyhow.

Lowering his hands in thought, he supposed the simplest way he could put it was to move them to his heart, displaying a wistful frown, before forming a V with one of them.

Neal blinked. "Oh. You...miss V.I.L.E.?" That was a completely different ballpark. Having put the organization so far behind him attachment-wise, he hadn't even considered that Mime Bomb might still have some feelings beyond fun memories and anecdotes to share.

Letting out a weighted breath, the other nodded, and used his hands to trace out a house before gripping his own upper arms in a wistful hug.

Leaning pensively on one hand, Neal sent the other a sympathetic look. "Oi didn't even think to think about that," he admitted, "Oi guess to me you just seem like the unattached type. Wouldn't expect you to miss it when the time came to move on. Oi mean Oi'm not lookin' back, but Oi suppose that's me, eh?" He'd been too in the moment to think the other wasn't on the same page there.

Tilting his head and furrowing his brow as a thought came, Mime gestured to Neal before hugging himself the same way, curiously. Did Neal really feel nothing?

Neal's brow pinched as he let out a short, strained breath, finding that a difficult question. "It's a little more complicated for me," he tried to explain, "Sure V.I.L.E. was family to me too. Oi never would have turned against them under regular circumstance. Ehh, but sometimes family pushes you away, y'know? And for me, well, Oi've always kind of just swum with the current. Oi cut bad ties pretty easily. Forge ahead. Don't regret. Find the best way to stay happy for me."

Mime's head turned away and he looked down as he digested this. The way Neal spoke, it sounded like he tethered himself to others even less than Mime did. Either that or he truly just lived in the moment and enjoyed what he had while he had it, meaning he could save himself regret if and when he lost something. But then...wait. Did that mean Mime was something he would be alright throwing away just as easily? Was Mime some kind of exception if he was looking for a relationship as real as he claimed? If the taller man was willing to do so much for him? Or did he also just really not see what he was doing as all that grand?

Turning a gaze of scrutiny towards Neal, the redhead turned a hand to indicate himself, then lifted both to his eyes like holding imaginary binoculars.

Neal blinked. "Well, Oi think you're a cutie," he replied easily, though not sure why the other wanted to know what he saw in him all of a sudden. Mime did not react to the light-hearted smile, either, seeming to take this under serious consideration, so Neal simply carried on, "You're sharp as a whip. Sharp with your wit. Know what you want and how to get it. You put up with me. You're the most fun Oi've ever had casually. And you're the most unique person Oi've ever met. Ya kinda stand out, mate, even _if_ stealth is your strength. And considering the eccentrically-themed kooks we've worked with, that's sayin' something."

Mime Bomb did have to admit this was flattering to listen to. He really had meant a lot to the other.

Putting the dots together as he spoke, Neal addressed, "And no, Oi don't _want_ to walk away from that. But Oi was already gonna be content letting you go on _your_ way when Oi thought you'd run out. Oi had no idea how into all this you were. And it wouldn't be the first time someone's had enough-a me. But the only reason Oi'd be so ok with it is because Oi already cherished what Oi've gotten, so if it makes you happy to go solo, so be it. That make sense?"

It seemed Neal really did take the approach of living in the present and adapting to each moment. And in a way, his approach made sense. At first Mime had thought it sounded like he _was_ disposable after all, but in the end it sounded more like Neal just wanted what was best for both of them. And he really sounded like he'd rather keep the silent one. Perhaps his ability to move on did not suggest a lack of being genuine. Another flattering confirmation.

"My advice to you about V.I.L.E.," Neal speculated, returning to the main point, "Is to hold onto those memories, but don't try to relive them. Try and think about the good that can come from a new horizon. Don't let the memories go bad. Be glad they happened. But now you can find family all over again." A beat. "And hey! You still got me! Although...maybe calling myself part of your family would make dating a little weird. Unless you're into that. Muh-uh." A light shrug there. He wasn't going to judge.

This last part made Mime involuntarily snort and promptly bite his lips at how suddenly the awkward taboo was brought into the conversation.

Neal beamed. "Hey, a laugh~. That's a start..!" A response to humor was a good sign that someone was ready to cheer up.

Mime rolled his eyes, but also had to agree that Neal had effectively punched a hole in the heavy atmosphere. As well, he...did give some good advice. The quiet man was not sure he was going to be able to follow it exactly, for V.I.L.E. held a special place in his heart Neal did not know the full extent of, but he would like to try and move forward. Make the best of his new life.

"And as much fun as it is reminiscing about things we both remember," Neal added, "Oi'm still curious about the _you_ story. The whole shebang. Are you gonna mind talkin' about yourself? Oi'll share if you will~."

Mime Bomb offered a sarcastic lop-sided smile there, both of them knowing Neal had no problem talking about himself. But he realized the other was softening the question with more humor. It was a legitimate one. Was Mime going to be alright with letting such unashamed interest in himself persist? He was finding himself drawn to Neal, and even among his old classmates, no one had actually wanted to know about him. That had been fine since his work thrived on being dismissable. That was why it felt so strange to have someone express this interest.

But it was nice to be heard. Maybe this was a place where indulging Neal would be good. Mime Bomb's only concern was that it would change some of those flattering opinions the other had expressed about him.

With a steeling inhale, the silent clown gestured for himself again, and once more formed a house with his hands. For the full impact, they were going to have to visit his original home.

"Oh?" The Kiwi certainly took interest in that. "Well, sure..! Oi'm up for the Full Mime Experience. We can take a stop by Ireland before we head over to Canada. Sound good?"

It should not have been surprising how readily Neal accepted this, but the extent of his breeziness still made Mime take note. Well. If they both wanted to take this chance and see where it took them, then he supposed he was onboard.

"Super," Neal answered his nod, "Speaking of, if you don't have anything else you'd like to get off your chest, Oi was going to ask if there's anything you need to pick up before heading to the house. Oi've already sent my things." He assumed Mime Bomb must have personal belongings somewhere in the world he would like to collect.

Not, in fact, wishing to linger on a negative topic, Mime Bomb did take note of another very fair question. He nodded and mimed out checking a very nice watch before playing the role of a bank teller at a desk.

"Switzerland, eh? Good place to pick, really," Neal approved with a dip of his head, "Central hub of Europe, too, so we can take a few side stops to sight-see. Oi was gonna do that on my own, but if Oi've learned anything from my time with you so far, it's that playing the tourist is a lot better with you around. Whaddya think, sound fun?"

Well, Mime Bomb tended to be business-minded when there was a goal to achieve, but he had to agree that sight-seeing with Neal was enjoyable for the whole two times they'd done it. He supposed stopping to smell a few more roses along the way wouldn't be so bad. They were not in a rush, and it would only take about a day to reach Switzerland from France.

At the beaming nod he received, Neal's own smile widened. "Peachy. Oh, by the way. You wanna see the house Oi bought? Oi just finished up finalizing the whole thing. You uh...done with what you're doing there?" He nodded towards the phone Mime Bomb had hooked up to his laptop.

The painted clown had nearly forgotten that was there and sheepishly hurried to disconnect it, the files having downloaded some time ago. He closed out of the window he'd been using and passed the laptop over to Neal, shuffling on his knees to come behind him attentively. Of course he wanted to see where he had signed up to live.

Gladly taking his laptop back, Neal navigated back to the seller's page he'd first found the house on. "Et voila..! Whaddya think about _this,_ then? Big enough for you?"

Mime's brow went up, once again pleasantly taken aback by an area Neal appeared to have taste in. It was a very large house. Modern and sleek, the walls almost entirely window and the three stories separated by thick black bands of stylistic framing between the tops and bottoms of the glass panes. The horizontal stripes of wall and window formed a striking rectangular structure, a smaller garage of grey stone accenting the building, complete with paved drive and walkway. The surrounding area appeared to be neatly-trimmed lawn and a line of trees, but not too far from civilization.

The shorter man nodded. He was not going to be cramped in something like that.

Neal smiled more and moved to click through a slideshow of pictures. "Great! Oi'm not sure what to do with all these rooms yet myself. Maybe you'll have some ideas. See, they've got a nice living area right inside the door. Kitchen opposite, and this here Oi think would make a great training area - don't wanna get rusty~. No basement, but Oi suppose Oi can always find some other place to enjoy a spot of damp. How do you feel about a sauna? Maybe over here. Comes with a pool, so it'd be a fair addition, Oi'd think."

Every word out of Neal's mouth was only selling Mime Bomb on this place harder. Enthusiastically, he leaned sideways and threw his arms around Neal's shoulders, jostling him with affirmation at the suggestion. A pool _and_ a sauna? Uh, _yes_ he wanted this place!

A chuckle met the excited hug. "Perfect. Oi'll even let you have first pick for bedrooms, ok? So, anything you still wanna do here, then, or shall we head out on the road straight away?"

Not twenty minutes later, the two men were checked out and back in Neal's car, and the next fourteen hours became a leisurely road trip. If they had been direct and hadn't stopped, it would have only taken them eight hours to find their destination, but they held true to their intentions of making the most of the journey.

If either party - usually Neal - spotted some attraction that looked interesting, they would pull off to meander and ogle and goof around. A couple of detours were planned, such as a stop in Lyon on their way out of France to enjoy a breathtaking walk around the Place Bellecour.

Paris was too far north to count as a detour, Neal wishing they could have stopped in the biggest pull of traffic the country had to offer, but he did not complain about the city they stopped in. Lyon might not have been Paris, but it was still gorgeous.

The Place had everything from fountains to large floral displays to antique statues, a riverside view, and even a massive Ferris wheel. In Neal's opinion, it was very romantic, and best of all, there were no red-hatted do-gooders to interrupt the appreciation of the public square like there had been in Italy.

Mime felt so much freer now that he'd left the city where he'd been held prisoner. The world felt so much more open to him. The sights were so much grander than in Fleury-Mérogis, and, he did have to admit, viewing them with Neal was just a little more special than if he'd been alone. Having someone to banter with made quite a difference.

The pair ended their walk full of beautiful sights by riding that Ferris wheel. Neal simply refused not to take advantage, and Mime Bomb had no complaints. They were quite lucky to still be able to ride it, as it was about to be taken down the next week with the exit of the Winter season.

Seated inside, Neal wasted no time in taking the other's hand, lacing their fingers gingerly. Mime had no reaction to Neal this time when he felt it, but as he turned and pretended to look with total disinterest out the window, he let himself smile warmly. Seated as far away as he could be on the bench, Neal propped his head on his other hand and smiled out his own window just the same, knowing that any snub that was not outright rebuke was a green light from the other man.

And, his silent patience was rewarded, as when the wheel began to slow, Mime Bomb leaned into his side of the car and gave him a peck on the cheek. Neal smirked at him knowingly and asked if he behaved at this rate, could they go for second base on another go around? His answer had been a very unimpressed raspberry and a gloved hand shoving his face.

Neal just laughed.

They took a similar stop across the border in Lausanne to appreciate some medieval Swiss architecture, art and shopping, but could not dally. They would be able to see even more of this in their destination, Bern, anyway.

It was night when they arrived in the country's capital, and both men were yawning as they entered their hotel. Neal was teasing Mime Bomb about not being so loud because loud yawns were more contagious. Mime Bomb was rolling his eyes before silently yawning even larger as he waited to be handed his room key.

This night passed much more pleasantly than the last, each man sleeping soundly after a highly enjoyable outing and with a renewed sense of security regarding their plans. They awoke with the same atmosphere, and this time coordinated their morning, sharing breakfast. Neal still spoke jovially to every fellow guest around him. Mime Bomb simply let him, focusing on his bagel.

From here, Mime Bomb was the one directing Neal as he drove around the bustling city. Mime Bomb had asked if he could drive with an overly sweet innocent pose, but Neal didn't think he was quite ready to hand his steering wheel over in such busy traffic. Maybe he'd show Mime the finer points of handling his car in Canada. Or, maybe the clown could even get his own ride.

That being one appealing thought about having a permanent place to settle, Mime had to relent without too much sulking. Instead he pointed out where Neal needed to turn, until a storage unit lot came into view. After entering, it was simply a matter of walking the rows until the bereted man halted in front of one rolling door and moved to unlock it.

Neal paid close attention as the door was lifted, quite keen to see what sort of belongings Mime would have accumulated over the years.

He was not disappointed.

The large concrete room was lined with shelving units overflowing with a variety of oddball items, and two overburdened clothing racks held a surprisingly assorted wardrobe. Neal wondered which had been costumes for missions and which were actual layman's clothes. Against the back wall was a desk with a large computer on top, surrounded by and hooked up to several servers and assorted chunky gear Neal assumed must have been related to Mime's old business.

Approaching the shelves to scan them with an interested smile, Neal could feel his companion turning a little apprehensive behind him. Was he nervous about what Neal might say?

Neal let his gaze drift over the shelves containing several books ranging from travel guides to codecracking to Agatha Christie novels. Then there were handmade weapons including garrotes, punch knives and Molotovs, which then led into a solved four-by-four Rubik's Cube, black ballet shoes, a West African shekere, a handsome dark wooden model of the Golden Gate Bridge, a musical snowglobe sheltering London Bridge beside it; then there was a boomerang, an Indian woven wall scroll, an authentic Finnish dreamcatcher right next to a Native American one, and finally something that made Neal take enough note to address: a pair of sizable daruma, one dusty with both eyes filled in, and the other clearly newer with only one eye sporting a pupil.

"A man of culture, Oi see," the slippery man said conversationally, "And Oi mean that literally. Very interested in the heart of a country's craftsmanship." Mime Bomb glanced to the side and tipped his head fairly. He did like authentic, handmade crafts. He appreciated craftsmanship and what made cultures unique.

Neal went on, picking up the daruma with only one eye. "Oi can relate to that. Oi'm a bit of a collector myself, as Oi'm sure you've gathered from my souvenir shopping. Always fascinating to learn about a new place. So these fellas...Oi'm guessing you already had an interest in the Asias before our last mission. What was the first goal you had?" He flicked his eyes for the one still on the shelf.

Clearly a little tense at the question, but finding it interesting that Neal seemed to know what the egg-shaped Japanese dolls were for, Mime obliged to answer and lifted a hand to move an imaginary tassel across his head.

Neal beamed. "Well, you sure aced that one. Flying colors all the way through the academy, right?" Well, unless it was Gym.

Modestly, Mime clasped his hands behind his back and smiled proudly at the praise. Then he was reminded of what Neal was leading up to when the man held up the single-eyed doll, asking, "And how about this one? This from your last mission?"

Now Mime appeared frozen for a second, but quickly ducked his head and looked away, holding his arms in clear embarrassment, not wanting to say.

Impishly, Neal's smile turned lop-sided. "Aw, come on. Now you've _got_ to tell me." He stepped closer and pushed the daruma out, nudging the clown's arm. "Oi'll help ya out with it~. What is it you wanna do, eh~?"

This carried on as Mime Bomb's lips wavered. He felt pressured and torn, knowing Neal was just pestering him to tease, but also wanting to share on some level. It was embarrassing, but he also knew the answer would probably be well-received.

After a handful of seconds, the silent man sighed and dug into his pants pocket, reaching to snatch the daruma in tandem. Neal stepped back, eyebrows going up and thinking he must have overstepped, but then Mime Bomb simply bit the cap off his lipstick, scrawled in a quick mismatched pupil, and shoved the doll back at Neal's chest, still looking away in a huff.

Now Neal blinked, and he let his eyes flick between Mime Bomb and the doll in his hands for a few more silent seconds, processing this.

Then his smile returned.

"You were hoping to run into _me_ again?" A short laugh when Mime Bomb rolled his eyes and lifted one hand out of his defensively crossed arms to wave that off, telling the other not to read too far into it. "Well Oi'd say you aced that too. You old romantic. Oi _knew_ you had a soft spot for me~," the Kiwi quipped, and moved to ruffle the other's hair.

Mime Bomb fought him off and hurriedly fixed his hair, putting his beret back on properly and motioning his hand like a flapping mouth, indicating Neal was yammering into unwanted territory.

This display of upset only warmed Neal's heart further. Mime was always emotionally stingy and guarded and that didn't bother him. It was cute. Just knowing the redhead had been keeping this in hopes of the off-chance that they'd meet again told him that Mime didn't want to forget him. Admitting it to Neal already spoke volumes.

"You're sweet," he informed the grouchy puss aimed his way, and it only hardened as Neal moved to place the daruma back where he'd gotten it from. Willing to let the topic rest at that, the black-haired party indicated at Rubik's Cube with an extra row. "Oi did have a couple lesser curiosities. Like this. Solved? Or you never touched it?"

Straightening as his puzzle solving skills were challenged, and very glad to not talk about what his hopes had been after seeing Neal hadn't been brainwashed, Mime Bomb quirked a stern brow and held a hand out like waiting for a toss.

With a playful smirk, Neal took the cube, and with only a coy glance over his shoulder, turned his back as he twisted the sides up. Then he turned back and merrily tossed it underhand into a waiting palm.

Calmly and with an air of pointed confidence, Mime Bomb observed the changes for a couple of seconds, and then steadily began rotating the cube's sides.

Neal hadn't doubted the other, but enjoyed pretending he had and was glad to let the other take the chance to show off and distract from any fuzzy feelings he might have been experiencing. He watched with interest at the methodical and consistent way Mime's hands moved. He wasn't acting with blinding speed, but he very clearly knew what he was doing, and within a couple of minutes, he smirked smugly and lobbed the completed cube back to the older man.

A small chuckle as Neal admired the re-completed puzzle. "My mistake," he granted, putting that back now too and then thumbing for the dance slippers. "Last thing Oi'm gonna ask before we pack up. Ballet? That more your dance than hula?" Were those just decoration or did the other man have actual training?

Looking at the shoes himself, Mime Bomb let himself smile now and nodded, letting one hand wobble to indicate he had some experience. He found it very handy body control to have while stealthily breaking in somewhere or evading capture. Not to mention it helped to build _some_ form of muscle on his lanky frame.

"Hoo-ee, you really  _are_ the whole package, aren't ya?" Neal marveled, impressed. Ballet was hard. "Oi love. Absolutely all of this." He spread his forearms to indicate the entire interior of the storage unit. Everything he'd learned from looking at Mime Bomb's belongings told him the silent one was very much a fascinating man he wanted to stick with. He could have sat here all day and asked for stories, but did want to stay focused. More stories would come.

It was very flattering to hear all of this was received so well. Mime Bomb hardly knew how to take someone being so invested in him. It warmed his chest. Though he had to wonder what it would be like when Neal finally found something about him he  _didn't_ agree with.

Moving to crouch by one shelf, the bereted man started gathering homemade weaponry into his arms, glad this personal hobby hadn't been one of the things Neal saw fit to inquire about. It was actually kind of notable that he hadn't. Why? Did he really not think anything of that shelf, or was he just being polite? They were both criminals, but most of their tools had been provided by V.I.L.E., and Mime Bomb was just slightly on edge, not knowing what small thing might completely change Neal's opinion about him. Strangely enough, he liked that Neal liked him, and he couldn't help but be self-conscious about sharing so much with him.

He had to hold off on feeling any real attachment, though. At least until Ireland. That would tell him whether or not investing his own feelings would be a good idea.

But even so, if Neal changed his mind now, Mime was sure it would still hurt. Dating was weird. Wanting to care about someone was weird. Even though it had only just begun, this relationship seemed like the biggest thing in the world, and he wanted it to be.

Soon enough, all of Mime Bomb's belongings had been packed up, escorted to a post office, and sent on their way to the pair's new address in Canada. The pair themselves spent the next few days lazily taking the long route through Europe, just touring and taking the time to get to know how one another functioned.

It was an incredibly comfortable companionship, and one Mime Bomb could not believe felt so natural so quickly. It was like he'd never spent months apart from Neal. Perhaps much of that had to do with how Neal himself became right at home so easily no matter where he was, but for Mime Bomb he just marveled at how instantly he wanted to keep the presence of someone who read him, related to him, and made him smile so well. Neal truly treated him differently than anyone else he'd ever met. He might have been used to being ignored and loved frustrating people with pantomime, but this change...this was just nice.

However, the closer Ireland got, the more gloomy Mime Bomb's demeanor became. He communicated less, hiding his nerves and assuring Neal that it was fine, but not being able to keep them completely at bay. And nerves aside, he just felt the weight of the story he was going to tell increase as the destination approached. As they boarded the car ferry from England to Ireland, he just kept telling Neal it would make sense once they got there.

The car actually ended up being left in a lot once the green shores had been reached. They weren't going to need it. Instead, the two men took a trek through a small village in the countryside, where Neal attempted some of the casual side-tracking he'd been doing during the entire trip, but seeing the other keep a stony face and just keep walking, he registered the set, serious atmosphere and adopted a matching seriousness, following Mime Bomb to the outskirts and past a couple of fields until at last, the redhead's steps came to a stop.

Neal looked from where his companion stood, hunched with hands in pockets, a brooding purse of his lips in place, to the unidentifiable, condemned pile of char and rubble he'd stopped to glower at. The sign in front of it informed that it had once been a Catholic orphanage.

"This was...yours?" Well, Neal had pegged it right that the other had been an orphan. Classic V.I.L.E.

Evenly, the silent man nodded.

"What happened? Why do you look so resentful about it?" The aura Mime Bomb radiated made the taller man feel like he was treading on eggshells.

Looking to Neal, Mime Bomb warned that the story was long and threatened to alter some opinions, but if Neal really wanted to know about him, he would tell the other, and in turn make him understand just why he hated the idea of being a civilian so much.

Face attentive and set, Neal craved to know the other's secrets more than ever. And he would not take this lightly. Just as slowly as Mime, he nodded back. "Oi wanna know," he confirmed, "Tell me."

Drawing in a deep breath, the silent party closed his eyes in preparation, before taking the plunge and beginning the longest Charade he'd ever performed.

This burnt-out husk of a building had been where he'd lived for as long as he could remember as a child. He'd never known his parents.

It was here in this orphanage that he'd learned to give up on being adopted or making lasting friends because no adults wanted him when he didn't speak, and any other children he might have liked got scooped up in front of his eyes. Liking other children was something he fast lost interest in, however, as most other children mocked him for not talking, and he became resentful of them getting to go on to happy homes, and of how they would blame things they did wrong on him, finding him an easy scapegoat for the same reason.

Quickly developing detest for being a target, Mime Bomb also developed a taste for tattling back. The start of his ingenuity being used for sneaky means, he recalled, was when he happened to overhear one incident of theft from the nuns being planned by the other children. He took advantage of his silence, and moved ahead of the other children to the kitchen, planting his phone to record as the others broke into the pantry and nicked their goodies. This time when confronted as the scapegoat, he was ready with counter-evidence. The looks on the other children's faces had been delicious, and wanting savor it, Mime had followed and watched from shadow as the others were taken away and beaten for their lies. Something he'd experienced far too often in their stead until this point. It was so satisfying. He wanted to tattle more. Catch them all in their own lies whether they'd picked on him or not. Punish those who were wrong.

Scaring them was fun too. The other children started to keep away from him both because of his silence, and because he made them uneasy as a threat. Mime did not mind. He took advantage, hiding around corners or under a table and jumping out, or simply waiting in the wings and smiling when a door was opened on him. It felt like he was starting to gain control of something by keeping others in line. It was certainly better than rolling over and taking others' judgement. No matter what the nuns said, God was not in control in that house. He was.

As an observer falling into the background, he also learned that if you watched someone for long enough, you could tell when they were weak, and how shockingly vulnerable they were, self-absorbed in their own world. Their valuables were often left exposed, and he started to fantasize about stealing them, just as he'd been accused previously. He was owed something to balance out those false accusations. Eventually, he did take some money left on a nightstand. It felt good. Like a start.

He surprised himself when he started fantasizing about harming them as well. When he watched others he'd ratted out be beaten, he began wishing he was the one harming them, and by age eight he had begun his hobby of making small weapons, though he kept this a secret.

Soon he was older than all of the other children, and given his own room, and although he had earned a reputation as a trustworthy tattletale with the adults, he would still hear them talk about him as a difficult problem child who would never be adopted because of his silence, which Mime would overhear constantly through eavesdropping. He would continue to resent his caretakers, too. No one believed in him. No one  _listened._ Not really.

And it ended up being true. The nuns were right. As he entered teenhood, Mime had stopped getting any offers to even try adopting him. He spent most of his time holed in his room, scouring the internet and learning about the world. Places he wished he could be because they were anything but where he was. He'd begun sneaking out. At any time of day, he would leave to commit petty crimes in town to make this dull place more exciting. It was by this point that he'd begun crudely painting his face. Yes, it was to avoid being identified, but pantomime had also been one of the things he'd studied purposefully online, and he felt a connection to it. He began practicing it. He liked miming because he thought it was fun and the body language was more universal than sign language. Also he liked being difficult because nobody wanted to listen anyway. So if they really wanted something out of him, they would have to work for it.

During his internet adventures, he found the dark web. Immediately he liked it. An entire network of underground crime, bigger and more connected than anything he could do in his backroads little town? How could he not?

He explored this vigorously, eventually having the idea of starting his own business venture here. Looking to his nightstand, he'd dug out a credit card he'd already found and altered, cracking this being the highlight of his puzzle solving and criminal careers at the time, and lighting up with the idea of making money off of this by doing it for other people. Shortly his business had been set up, but he did not stop delving deeper into corners of the dark web.

The kinds of crimes hidden under layers of secret web links and coding was shocking, but somehow still more exciting than anything. Illegal animals for sale, hitmen for hire, a booming drug market...human trade. His eyes had widened when he learned that even  _humans,_ in part or in whole, could be sold in this place. But he didn't even think of clicking away. He was fascinated. And in only a few more clicks, he'd found snuff. He had to be invited, and he had to follow a certain link at a certain time only, but he was too curious not to attend.

He was shocked again when the link jumped to life in the late hours, becoming a chatroom with a video feed, two men with their faces covered flanking a third man tied to a chair. Instantly the chat sprang to life with the most horrible words, users simply saying things like "thumbscrews", "slice his lids off" or "how pink is he inside".

Transfixed, Mime Bomb had continued watching, seeing the masked men waste no time in complying to their favorite suggestions. This was not fake. The blood was real. The screams were real. Mime Bomb blinked to find a familiar form of guilty gratification spring forward upon realizing this.

This was...like when he watched his fellow orphans punished...but more. This was...nice. A slow smile crept onto his lips as the tortured man begged, no one listening to a word he said. It was cathartic.

And, when he was dead, Mime Bomb couldn't feel sorry for him. That man was everyone who had looked down on him his entire life. He just kept smiling, feeling an incredible mental release. And others were like him. He would have to come back. Maybe throw some of his own suggestions into the ring.

Death became a bit of a fixation of his for a while. Locally, he developed a bit of a fascination with Tuam, an Irish city with a famously cruel Catholic home for mothers with child, known mainly for the mass graves of these children, though the home had not been in use since the 1960's. Mime started to dream of recreating those graves, wishing his own home could make his peers vanish so thoroughly. He wanted an outlet like murder.

When he was eighteen, he left that orphanage as fast as he could, buying a cheap place in town, but living just the same and never losing his bitterness. He continued keeping to himself, getting a job, using his mime act to pick up cash on the side, saving up to leave. And of course, entertaining himself with thievery along the way. It made for a nice bonus.

It was when he was twenty, during his excursions onto the dark web that a V.I.L.E. recruiter happened across him and his talents, finding those, his callous cruelty, and his availability as an orphan to hold great potential, and scouting him. The anonymous recruiter offered a chance to hone his skills, learn a multitude of new ones, and even learn how to make his catharsis a reality. He would have to become part of an international family of thieves and leave the world he knew behind, but he would gain much reward.

Mime Bomb did not even hesitate. A family? A family dedicated to taking back from the world what they were owed? A family that did not hesitate to cut down opponents? A family that  _wanted_ him?

His response was an immediate yes, followed by an insist that he was already prepared to prove himself. To show how ready he was to take that step into a criminal life. The recruiter sounded pleased.

For the first time since the story had started, Neal responded, starting to get a foreboding sense. "And...how did you manage that?"

The smaller man looked at him with steady, dull expression, then cupped one palm in front of him so he could strike it with an imaginary match. Holding that up, he turned for the burnt-out building and evenly stepped toward it. He stopped beside the door, and flipped his wrist over, opening his fingers and letting the invisible flame fall.

Neal's inclination about the fate of this place was confirmed, and his brow pinched as he let out a somber sigh. He followed to where Mime Bomb was sending the ashes a dirty look, and paused nearby behind him. "Anyone make it out?"

Turning to face him, but maintaining that stoic expression, Mime Bomb drew a finger across his neck. Not a one. Every single woman and child in that building had been unable to escape the speedy flame in the dry night air. Many of the bodies hadn't even been identified or recovered. He'd finally done it. He'd created his own Tuam, and cleansed himself of his old life.

It felt  _very_ liberating, and the blaze was enough to earn him an escort to V.I.L.E. Academy that very night.

Shifting his lips at Neal, the redhead silently asked with that expression alone if the other had some different ideas about him now. He'd wanted to know, and Mime had told him.

It was clear to Neal that Mime Bomb  _expected_ him to have something negative to say. He could have, but sarcasm was not the way to go here. Instead, knowing Mime needed confirmation now more than ever, he just opened his arms and softly told, "Come here, luv."

The smaller man's shoulders tensed visibly, his lips going taut and his lower eyelids pinching as an emotional punch struck him in the gut, creating a pressure he'd long stuffed down behind his eyes.

Neal's response was...compassion? Not disgust or claims that he'd been rash? Immature? Creepy? He just...wanted to let Mime know he still cared for him.

Hardly knowing what to think, but feeling like having Neal was the luckiest thing to ever happen to him, Mime Bomb just acted on impulse, drawn into that hug like a magnet and clutching clawed fingers into the back of the yellow and green zig zags Neal was wearing. His pinched face crushed into the crook of Neal's neck.

Gingerly, Neal's large hands landed on Mime's back, one caressing the small of it while the other slowly massaged a shoulder blade. He definitely understood what Mime Bomb had seen in V.I.L.E. now, and why he had hated civilian life. Being a civilian was dull and frustrating and unrewarding, offering nothing but building resentment, while V.I.L.E. had swooped in and saved the younger man from it all. Offered him that out he'd always wanted. He couldn't help being attached, or finding it hard to move on.

The taller man shushed and assured the other with vague sounds, swaying lightly with him until he felt those claws relaxing, then noting quietly, "Oi get it. Though if you knew half the people Oi know, you wouldn't even be asking what makes me bat an eye."

Mime looked up, puzzled and still feeling on the edge of crying. He hadn't, but he was so relieved and touched by Neal's acceptance that such a dormant action still threatened him.

Neal nodded. "Oi watched you snap a man's neck, remember? One thing Oi don't do is judge. Like and dislike, sure, but not judge. And Oi don't think any less of you for killing a few kids. You think Oi never killed anyone?"

With a sniff, Mime had to give that yes, Neal was also a criminal and had likely had to remove a living obstacle at some point, but even among his classmates, killing had still had lines that most agents would not cross. Part of why Mime Bomb had been considered unnerving was that he  _had_ the highest death toll in his class. He didn't go for it when it was unnecessary, but if he had an opportunity, he did take it. And kids were generally considered going too far. Even Mime Bomb's ex-favorite teacher, Shadow-san, had been unable to kill a baby, instead bringing her to the academy's island to be raised...and become their worst enemy. Not killing Carmen Sandiego as an infant was something Mime Bomb saw as a terrible mistake on Shadow-san's part, and he was incredibly betrayed by how that man had turned to her side. He would not have made the same mistake. He'd watched children punished since he was a child himself. He'd endured unjust punishment. There was no mercy in his heart based on age.

Understanding this, Neal just smiled gently and rubbed the other's shoulder again. "'s all the same, really. Problem's a problem and a kill's a kill. For you? You needed this to be at peace." A glance towards the orphanage ruins. "And really. Oi can relate to your story more than ya might think. Oi was only askin' about it 'cause Oi was curious." At the other's processing blink, he added, "Oi'll share my own story if you'd like to hear. Oi did say Oi wouldn't mind a little quid pro quo."

Thinking about it for another moment, Mime Bomb then nodded. Neal's comforting was astonishingly effective. He could not believe how clearly the man saw where he was coming from, and was alright with every way he'd reacted to his own experiences. Mime wanted to know how Neal could be like that. How his life had compared.

With another friendly smile, Neal let the other out of his arms and stepped to the stone base of one of the orphanage's eroded walls, moving to sit down. "Sure thing. It'll prob'ly be a bit more comfortable like this, though. Just sayin'. Oi want this to be comfortable for you."

Appreciating that Neal was both trusting him and trying to keep the mood as relaxed as possible, the silent man did feel at ease and moved to join the other, sitting opposite on a higher portion of the crumbled wall.

Neal began his tale, "Well, one major difference is that Oi didn't start out as an orphan. Oi had parents until Oi was, oh...sixteen, Oi wanna say?" He scratched his cheek as he squinted in thought, and Mime found it curious that was something he would have a hard time recalling. Neal went on, "Anyway, Oi did start crime at a young age like you. It was a fun game, nicking sweets and things from shops with friends. We all thought it was quite a thrill. Oi was a stand-out, though, 'cause even if we got caught, Oi was great at hiding in cramped areas the grown-ups wouldn't find me - under a car, hollow of a tree, trashcans - and Oi'd always have the spoils to show off later. Unless Oi'd already eaten them, that is~." A fond chuckle at the memory.

That sounded about right to Mime, starting out as a boyhood hooligan and becoming the star of his own little gang. He nodded for Neal to go on, wanting to know how this had escalated into elite V.I.L.E. membership.

"As Oi got older, Oi graduated to things like money Oi'd see stickin' out of purses, or to the purses themselves," the Kiwi explained, "The thrill never got old for me, and especially not the thrill of the chase. Oi preferred snatching, finding it a way bigger challenge, and far more rewarding. Money can buy a lot more than sweets, that's for sure. Only problem was, as Oi was growin' up, Oi stopped being able to fit into so many of my old spots. But, on the flipside, Oi was starting to develop a bit of a glandular problem. To me, that seemed like an answer to balancing things out more than anything."

A wistful hem. "Once Oi put that together, Oi was back in the game with a vengeance. Oi'd worm under a fence like nobody's business. Inspired by my own sweat, Oi started taking routes Oi knew were slippery, training myself on things like how to stay up on ice, or at one point Oi decided to try greasing up beforehand. Lemme tell you, worked like a charm. That, and choosing to hide in spots no one would even want to look, like a nice slimy compost heap. Figured Oi was already slimy; what's the harm in a bit more? And well, Oi got away with it, didn't Oi~?"

Mime Bomb would have to assume so. But he did have to think that even back then, Neal had been gross to just dive into the world of slime like that. Even if it was admirable in the tactics department.

"Oi put a lot of effort into nicking and running," the black-haired man reminisced, "Oi even decided my size wasn't gonna determine what Oi could squeeze into. Not completely. Flexibility training was a big score for me. Unfortunately, my mates from early on had kind of outgrown the game by that point. They didn't want to go stealing with me anymore. They said they felt bad about it. They said Oi shouldn't be taking money. And they ratted me out. They told my parents what Oi was up to on my spare time. Needless to say, Oi was not happy." A dour expression crossed Neal's face there.

"Got all the old lectures, all your standard fare about how that kinda life'll get you nowhere...Oi didn't hate my folks - they were nice people and all - but Oi'd already seen them proven otherwise, and let's just say Oi got really good at sneaking out a second floor window." A soft chuckle. "Oi was always pretty headstrong, Oi'm sure you can tell. And Oi was not happy with the utter lack of indulgence from my family. We were at odds a lot over my behavior. See, since my old friends had moved on, Oi was more than happy to cut 'em loose. Oi'd been startin' to fall in with a new crowd anyway. The more gang-related crowd."

Mime Bomb's eyebrows went up at this. Wait...Neal really had  _actual_ gang affiliation? Not just some ragtag bunch of miscreants he'd hung out with?

"More of 'em in New Zealand than you might think," Neal nodded, "It's been a rising problem, or so the news would have ya believe. But sure, Oi found my way into one of their clubhouses by accident during one-a my getaways, and we actually hit it off rather well! Can probably thank my slick tongue for that. They called me 'spunky'~." Another short laugh here. "Oi've always been a bit of a talker, too. Surprised? But well, impressed by my steal and my young age, they actually scared the coppers offa my slippery tail for me. Then they asked for my story. Nice buncha mates."

The redhead could hardly believe what he was hearing. Neal. This Neal. Had chatterboxed his way into being friends with a proper notorious gang.

"Oi came back loads after that," Neal kept yarning, "My fluid friendliness actually allowed me to be on good terms with  _multiple_ gangs in the area, even if they were at odds. Which, let me tell you, is very handy and a  _very_ unique privilege~." He seemed awful proud and smug there, and Mime Bomb couldn't blame him.

"Everyone in New Zealand's seedy underbelly just seemed to like me as the rascal Oi was. Oi'd do anything they asked, no questions, smuggle whatever they needed, and they gave me lotsa nice presents in return. No reason to kill me when Oi was such a ready and willing, unbiased gofer, y'know?" He was unashamedly on everyone's side in the criminal industry, and his cohorts had simply had to respect his stance, willing to make an exception for him and letting him help them all.

"Oi loved spending time with the gangs. They were more my family than my real family ever was. That's why when they died, Oi really couldn't be too torn up about it. Honestly, it was kind of a relief. Freedom."

Mime Bomb stared in stun again. Wow. Neal had gotten to experience having a family, and he really could say he hadn't been upset to find out they were dead? He could definitely see why Neal had cherished the family that had made him feel more welcome and more at home, but how could he both not hate his birth parents  _and_ not miss them?

"Yeah, Oi know. Kooky, right?" Neal tutted with a lop-sided grin. "They got run down by a train when the safety gates at a crossing didn't close, and for me, it was just a free pass to start living my life  _my_ way."

Face turning a little somber as he reflected, he noted, "Oi remember staring at their caskets at the funeral, not feelin' a thing other than a spot of boredom. Never even shed a tear. That was the first time Oi realized just how little Oi actually value other lives."

Dumbfounded, the bereted man facing him had to grant Neal that with an admission like  _this,_ he certainly should not have been worried about Neal judging him just for burning down an orphanage. He saw what Neal meant. He could relate to acting so cruelly because he was callous at heart himself. He did not view people as people. Merely playthings that could or could not benefit him.

It was just so... _weird_ to hear this view from a buck-toothed goofball who liked wearing gaudy tourist clothes. This over-sharing, extroverted, sunny man legitimately did not value human beings?

But then...how could he claim to be interested in love?

Neal kept talking, expanding on his statement. "It was a shocker, believe. Oi thought Oi musta been broken. Or maybe Oi was in shock. Or Oi just didn't see the point in empathizing with someone who wasn't alive. But then Oi looked around the room, thinking consciously about all these other people. Noted how Oi thought about them. They were sad, or sobbing, some Oi knew, some Oi didn't...but no matter who they were, Oi just didn't care. All Oi wanted was to be back with the people Oi loved. The people who made me happy."

A shrug. "So, that's what Oi did. First chance Oi got, Oi slipped away out the door, only stopping to grab a nice handbag someone had left on a seat."

A soft sigh now. "Thought plenty on what made those groups different while Oi was walking. Oi wasn't an emotional husk. Oi felt plenty of emotions. Oi'm an emotional guy. Never afraid to share, either. Then Oi figured, Oi just only really cared about people Oi could connect to. Didn't matter who they were otherwise. My gang pals were my true family, so they  _were_ my family. That make sense?" One cheek pinched, Neal unsure if he was conveying himself properly.

Mime Bomb had to think about it for an extra moment, but he supposed...yes. Neal was not devoid of emotion or attachment. He just processed it in a unique way, and the person he loved most was himself. It was like how Mime poured all of his hatred into wanting to watch someone die. He didn't value the person who died. And he was always looking out for himself.

Eventually, Mime nodded. He did understand. And he didn't find the philosophy offensive.

A beam returned to Neal's face. "There, see? Knew ya would. So sure, Oi more than relate to not caring about people as a whole, even if Oi have found myself drawn to the odd one now and again." A small smarmy smirk went keenly at the man opposite him, and Mime had to smile just a hint in response. Neal was assuring him that he had real feelings for him. It was appreciated.

"Right, so," the Kiwi continued, "Coming to realize how little Oi thought of other people, Oi started to wonder if Oi could actually kill one of 'em. Oi knew my mates had killed plenty, but Oi never heard anything but stories and numbers. Never saw it yet. Just knew Oi wouldn't be seein' some of those guys around anymore. Oi asked my main crew, who Oi'd chosen to bunk with after the orphan situation, if Oi could give it a go. Soon enough, they had some bloke who'd crossed them brought out behind the hideout, and were holdin' him for me while my best mate Jibbs was holdin' out a switchblade for me."

With a slight shrug, the oily-haired man admitted, "Well, Oi was touched. Excited. They went outta their way to help me see if Oi was fit for the big leagues. Oi took that switchblade up and hugged that big oaf like you wouldn't believe." A short laugh. "Once that was done, though, Oi studied that knife good. Looked at that fella held hostage good. Pictured it in my head. Everyone around me was rootin' for it. And well, Oi couldn't let 'em down. Oi stabbed."

Another light shrug there. "Oi didn't hit anything important the first time, but the reaction sure was something. Talk about a struggle. This guy was like a fish on dry dock, and oof! What a potty mouth!"

With a more alert smile, Neal perked, "Oi didn't feel bad watchin' him flounder, either. It was just kind of...interesting. Only thing Oi felt was encouraged by my mates. Oi wanted to do 'em proud. So Oi stabbed again. And a few more times. Then finally Oi just jab him good in the belly and yank that blade up, gutting him like the fish he seemed to think he was."

Now a pleasant sigh. "It was a heck of an experience. Oi found out Oi sure  _could_ kill someone, and as Mr. Fish bled out on the ground, my mates gave me loads of helpful pointers about how to do it better next time. Like Oi said,  _very_ nice bunch. Maybe Oi wouldn't put murder in as more exciting than a great chase, but Oi'm perfectly capable and Oi find that fact intriguing."

He glanced up thoughtfully, finding his own relationship with the human race curious.

Back to Mime, he explained, "It's not so much the hand you're dealt, but how you play it, and Oi've done well to make the most of every bit Oi've discovered about myself. After all, if you don't love yourself, how can anyone else, eh? For the most part, Oi just roll with what comes and goes and follow my whims. Find it the easy route. And the crime circle's always been good to me, so Oi never saw any reason to try  _being_ good or not trust them. No gang's ever ratted on me, at least, and their game's one Oi'm  _very_ good at. Oi was making money and the company was enjoyable. Oi only met more and more criminal types over the years through those connections, and it was through this ever-growing library of links that Oi met my own V.I.L.E. recruiter. They found me an interesting case, and since Oi was the usual twenty when they finally asked me to join up, Oi was just thinking it was about time to leave the ol' nest. The gang was very supportive. They thought specialized training sounded just as good as Oi did, and wanted me to move up in the world, be happy, all that rigmarole. So long as Oi didn't lose touch. And well, Oi never have."

One more breezy shrug as Neal finished on a conclusive tone.

Mime Bomb blinked. Neal was still in contact with these people?

"Of course!" Neal answered happily, "You think Oi'd drop my roots just because some shiny new big-headed organization comes along? Or V.I.L.E. was my one and only? Oi never  _stopped_ making connections, bruv. Oi know all sorts of seedy types. How you think Oi got you out of jail so easily? Oi know who to bribe and who to sweet talk~."

Oh. Mime had just thought that crack about knowing people had been just that. A crack. But wow, the older man actually had his own network of contacts around the globe. He was far more set than the redhead, and obviously had many avenues open to continue crime. Come to think, this was probably a big reason Neal talked so much to anyone he was around. He was always on the lookout for a hint towards a new criminal contact. Honestly, it was very impressive. No wonder he had once almost made V.I.L.E. faculty. And, just as admirably, Mime had learned that Neal most certainly had never second-guessed anything about himself, simply going with what came naturally and owning it. Even if he could be quite gross.

Feeling much better to have heard this story, the silent man leaned forward to pick up Neal's hands, and smiled warmly at him in thanks. He couldn't believe he could connect to someone like this. Someone really did understand him, deranged tendencies and all, and he understood right back.

He realized he must have caused Neal some of that worry he'd thought of in turn, about being thrown away, acting a little too flippant sometimes. But right now he could not consider their connection trivial anymore. He wanted to assure Neal equally that he was willing to declare that officially. He wanted to date.

Neal paused in surprise as his companion moved to hold his hands so sweetly. Mime looked on the verge of tears again, but this time...happily.

Matching the wide smile as fondness found him, Neal preferred to cherish the moment rather than waste time questioning Mime's choice to give affection. It was obvious that the redhead was feeling better, was pleased with him, and that was all that mattered.

"Oi wanna love you, too," Neal promised, and couldn't help but enjoy the light hue of pink appearing under Mime's makeup. No doubt the younger man hadn't been thinking  _quite_ such sugary words. Neal chuckled. "Did Oi just sweet talk  _you_ into reciprocating my romance~?"

Defensively, Mime Bomb took his hands back and curled his arms, head turning away slightly. Slyly, however, his eyes stayed on Neal, and he carefully let one hand move forward enough to waggle a 'so-so' motion. Maybe a little. But that was the best Neal was getting.

That was plenty good enough. Neal gave a good-hearted chuckle. "A-course, bruv. Never easy-to-get with you. Always baby steps. Well, how about we take one right now? Move in with me~?"

Standing, he offered his hand forward with a wink.

Mime Bomb sighed and rolled his eyes at the corny gesture, especially since they both knew this agreement was already set, but couldn't help finding it still charming on some level. It was confirmation that the deal was still on. The hand was taken, Neal pulled the other up, and the two headed back the way they came, the link remaining between them.

"So you're local. About that cheese shop we passed on the way here..."


End file.
